Bunerat. And what do you think of it, your honor?
The President. Of what? Of the acquittal? What does it matter to me? I don't care—on the contrary, I prefer it. I am certain the advocate won't ferret out some unintentional defect—some formality gone wrong. Where's my hat-box?
He is about to stand on a chair to reach the hat-box, which is on the top of a cupboard. Bunerat precedes him.
Bunerat. Permit me, Monsieur. You are at home here. [From the chair] I believe I shall have the pleasure of seeing you here again next session. [He sighs, holding out the hat-box]
The President. A pleasure I shall share, my dear fellow. [He takes out a small felt hat from the box]
Bunerat. Would you like a brush? There's Mouzon's brush. [A sigh] Ah, good God, when shall I leave Mauleon? I should so like to live at Pau!
The President. Pooh! A much overrated city! Come, come!
Bunerat. I suppose my new duties won't take me there yet?
The President. Don't you worry yourself. In the winter, yes, it's very well—but the summer—ah, the summer.
Bunerat. I am not the one appointed?