Angélique
(Rubs the object with her dress. Takes a handful of sand and rubs it on the object. Spits on it and rubs the sand.) V'là, Jean-B'tiste—it shines.
Jean-Baptiste
(Loftily.) Yes. It is nothing, that. One finds such things.
Angélique
(Rubbing more.) And there are letters on it.
Jean-Baptiste
Yes. It is nothing, that. One has flowers en masse now, and it is time to go home. Come then, p'tite, drop the dirty bit of brass and pick up your pretty flowers. Tiens! Give me your hand. I'll pull you up the side of the ditch. (Jean-Baptiste turns as they start.) I forgot the thing which the grandfather told me I must do always. (He stands at attention.) Au revoir, brave Americans. One salutes your immortal glory. (Exit Jean-Baptiste and Angélique.)