Weathervane. Bravo, madam! That’s the way it ought to be before the world and men,—ah, how do you call it? pour les gens du haut ton. You must pardon me a little, madam, if I too, duly cautious of my honour, regard our language to be nothing but a jargon, in which it is not possible properly to express your thoughts, and where you have to wear yourself out mercilessly in the attempt of finding your ideas. Only out of compulsion do I speak that language to my lackey, coachman and with all common people, where there is no need to exert yourself in thinking. But with our distinguished people it would be to appear a fool, not to speak French to them. Pray tell me, how could I fall in love? Je brûle, je languis! How could I express that in Russian to charming Úlinka: I faint, I burn,—fi donc! I must assume that you speak French, and so does your époux....
Mrs. Indolent (perplexed). Of course, of course! Comment vous portez-vous?
Weathervane. Bravo, madam!
Mrs. Indolent. I am now a little out of practice, but formerly I never prattled in Russian.
Weathervane. You will hardly believe how poor I am in Russian! In Russian my intelligence is so narrow, so small! But in French: o, que le diable m’emporte! My intelligence at once walks in by the grande porte. I’ll tell you what once happened to me. I was once sitting with a young lady who did not know two words of French, and that caused ma tête horriblement to ache, so that I had to pass a whole day at home in undress.
Mrs. Indolent. I should not think the harm could be so great. The pain, no doubt, was caused through nagimation.
Weathervane. Imagination you meant to say?
Mrs. Indolent. That’s it. You see, though I am a little out of practice, I am still able to adorn our coarse tongue, which I despise, with French morsels. My époux has always seemed such an odd fellow to me because, though he knows French like a Frenchman, he does not care to amuse himself with that charming language.
Weathervane. That, madam, I cannot understand. A nobleman....
Mrs. Indolent. Oh! His race is as distinguished as the ace of trumps, and nobody can compare with him in antiquity of origin: he can recount his ancestors a thousand years back.