Madame—Repeat those two little words. I am your darling, then?
Monsieur—Ha! ha! ha! She has little fingers which—ha! ha!—go into your neck—ha! ha!—you will make me break something, nervous as I am.
Madame—Well, break something. If one may not touch one’s husband, one may as well go into a convent at once. (She puts her lips to MONSIEUR’S ear and coquettishly pulls the end of his moustache.) I shall not be happy till I have what I am longing for, and then it would be so kind of you to do it.
Monsieur—Kind to do what? Come, dear, explain yourself.
Madame—You must first of all take off that great, ugly dressing-gown, pull on your boots, put on your hat and go. Oh, don’t make any faces; if you grumble in the least all the merit of your devotedness will disappear ... and go to the grocer’s at the corner of the street, a very respectable shop.
Monsieur—To the grocer’s at ten o’clock at night! Are you mad? I will ring for John; it is his business.
Madame (staying his hand) You indiscreet man. These are our own private affairs; we must not take any one into our confidence. I will go into your dressing-room to get your things, and you will put your boots on before the fire comfortably... to please me, Alfred, my love, my life. I would give my little finger to have...
Monsieur—To have what, hang it all, what, what, what?
Madame—(her face alight and fixing her eyes on him)—I want a sou’s worth of paste. Had not you guessed it?
Monsieur—But it is madness, delirium, fol—