GEORGE. Hang it, doctors are only men. After all they must live; and when their consultations are forty francs apiece, why, the more the merrier.
HENRIETTE. And some quite unknown little doctor cured you in three months!
GEORGE. Yes; he was quite unknown. The odd thing is I have absolutely forgotten his address. I found it in the paper, I remember. I know vaguely that it was somewhere near the Halles; but if I was to have my head chopped off for it, I couldn’t find it again. Idiotic, isn’t it?
HENRIETTE. Consequently, Germaine is six months less old than she ought to be.
GEORGE. What of that? We shall keep her so much the longer. She will be married six months later, that’s all.
HENRIETTE. Oh, don’t speak of it. It’s odious to think even now that we shall lose her some day.
GEORGE. Ah! I can see myself going up the steps of the Madeleine with her on my arm.
HENRIETTE. Why the Madeleine?
GEORGE. I don’t know. She’ll have on a great white veil and I shall have an order in my buttonhole.
HENRIETTE. Indeed! Pray what will you have done to get an order?