ANTONIN. You must forgive my wife’s little slip, dear monsieur.
POUCHELET. It is nothing—nothing at all.
ANTONIN. You mustn’t go like this. Another glass of beer?
MME. POUCHELET. You are very good. It has been so close to-day.
ANTONIN. Julie, a glass of beer for Madame Pouchelet. [To her] Yes; the heat this afternoon has been quite oppressive. [To Julie] Where’s that beer?
JULIE [who has tried the various bottles, confused] I will send for some more. These are empty.
ANTONIN. Really!
MME. POUCHELET. Oh, please don’t trouble. Please. No; you really must not. We can have something when we get home. [Going] Our things are here, I think.
JULIE. Let me help you.
ANTONIN. I will come and put you on your way.