Guéret. Ouf! Think of a young man who can talk as long as that, without taking breath, giving up the Bar. What a pity!
Féliat [to René] Have you told all that to your people?
René. Yes. They're not at all proud of my business. And after refusing to let me marry Thérèse because she had no money they won't let me marry her now because she works for her living. To be directress of a bindery, even of your bindery, uncle, is not distinguished enough for them.
Féliat. Well, my boy, you certainly couldn't have stood up to things like that a year ago. What d'you want us to do for you? Thérèse doesn't want our consent to marry; nor do you.
While Monsieur Féliat has been speaking, old Mother Bougne has come in from the right. She is a poor old workwoman who walks with difficulty, leaning on a broom, from which one feels that she never parts. She has a bunch of keys at her waistbelt; her apron is turned up and makes a sort of pocket into which she slips pieces of paper and scraps that she picks up from the floor. René looks at her with surprise.
Féliat. You're looking at Mother Bougne. Good-morning, Mother Bougne.
Mother Bougne. Good-morning, Monsieur Féliat.
Féliat. When does the Committee of your Union sit?
Mother Bougne. On Wednesday, Monsieur Féliat.
Féliat. You won't miss it, will you?