It is at this juncture that the Husband, as if speaking to some indiscreet comrade, addresses madame as “my friend.”
“Mon amie,” he begins, “you must know that I, too, love another.”
“You have a mistress, of course,” replies madame, accepting this foregone conclusion as a preliminary to what may follow.
“Naturally, my friend, but it is not of Mademoiselle de Tréville that I speak, it is of one of your best friends, une femme sérieuse, exquise, ravissante!” and he clasps his hand and looks toward heaven.
“Louise?” asks madame.
“Parfaitement, mon amie.”
“Tiens! That is funny,” replies madame, with a little amused smile; “but what of her husband?”
“It will be difficult, but I think it can be arranged,” replies monsieur dramatically.
Upon the reentrance of the Jolly Young Man, all three begin a breezy conversation touching as lightly as possible upon the painful episode of the interrupted rendezvous.
“I leave for Nice to-morrow,” says the Husband, picking up his silk hat and his yellow kid gloves. “Bonsoir, mes amis,” and he bows himself out through the modest portal of the Jolly Young Man’s apartment as the curtain falls.