BELLINE
(Sitting down beside her.) So am I; my feet are dreadfully sore.
ROSARELLE
(Looking around through her lorgnette.) But what I want to know is where have we got to? My dear, have we fallen into a trap?
BELLINE
The company certainly is a little mixed. There's the miller's daughter, the girl from the inn, the wood-cutter....
ROSARELLE
Or rather, to be accurate, the wood-stealer.... There's even the little beggar-girl from the bridge by the Hermitage, to whom I refused a penny last Sunday.... My dear, you should have heard the insolent way in which she asked for it!...
BELLINE
And what's that white image standing in the corner, the one that never stirs, never speaks and follows us wherever we go?