Monsieur—My cousin! my cousin! Ferdinand is only a cousin by marriage.
I grant, however, that he is not very bright.
Madame—Well, I am sure that his mother must have had a longing, or something.
Monsieur—What can I do to help it, my angel?
Madame—Nothing at all; but it clearly shows that such things are not to be laughed at; and if I were to tell you that I had a longing—
Monsieur—(letting fall his newspaper)—The devil! a longing for what?
Madame—Ah! there your nostrils are dilating; you are going to resemble a lion again, and I never shall dare to tell you. It is so extraordinary, and yet my mother had exactly the same longing.
Monsieur—Come, tell it me, you see that I am patient. If it is possible to gratify it, you know that I love you, my . . . Don't kiss me on the neck; you will make me jump up to the ceiling, my darling.
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.