MME. MAIRAUT. You know well enough that’s the only way you ever do succeed with things.
MAIRAUT. But there’s something I want to say to you.
MME. MAIRAUT. Then it’s sure to be something stupid. However, we have nothing better to do. Go on.
MAIRAUT. It’s what I spoke to you about before. It’s been worrying me a good deal. If the Duponts give us their daughter, who has probably a dot of twenty-five thousand francs—
MME. MAIRAUT. Twenty or twentyfive thousand, I expect.
MAIRAUT. Well, if they give her to us, who have nothing but the bank, it must be because they don’t know that Uncle Maréchal is ruined.
MME. MAIRAUT. Obviously. Nobody knows.
MAIRAUT. It isn’t honest not to tell them.
MME. MAIRAUT. Why?
MAIRAUT. Surely, my dear—