Lucienne. It's my dress. I do like playing this part. I have to say that lovely bit—you know—the bit that describes the day of the ideal wife. [She recites, sentimentally] "I rise and go to prayers, to the farmyard, to the kitchen. I prepare your meal; I go with you to church; I read a page or two; I sew a while; and then I fall asleep happy upon your breast."
Féliat. That's good, oh, that's very good! Barberine—now, who wrote that?
Lucienne. Alfred de Musset.
Féliat. Ah, yes; to be sure, Alfred de Musset. I read him when I was young. You often find his works lying about in pretty bindings.
René. Uncle, Uncle; I beg your pardon, but don't speak so loud. We can hardly hear what they're saying on the stage.
Féliat [very politely] Sorry, I'm sure.
René [to Lucienne] You. Now.
Lucienne [speaking through the guichet] "My lord, these cries are useless. It grows late. If you wish to sup—you must spin." [turning to the others] There! Now I must go over the rest with Ulric.
She runs out, with a little wave of adieu to Féliat.
René [to Madame Guéret] The trumpets, Madame. Don't forget.