J. B.—“And who is the lady, if I may be so bold?”
Monsieur.—“A charming English girl.”
J. B.—“Ah! charming, of course.... But what else?”
Monsieur.—“What else? But that is already a great deal, it seems to me. What would you have, my dear sir? A pair of heavenly blue eyes....”
J. B.—“I congratulate you.”
Monsieur.—“A lovely figure....”
J. B.—“A lovely figure! My dear fellow, my countrywomen get all that over from Paris. The Bon Marché supplies any amount of lovely figures at six or seven francs apiece.... For a Frenchman, you seem to be going in for matrimony rather young.”
Monsieur.—“That is true; but a bachelor’s life is so dull and so dear in England! I am getting tired of it. Besides, I don’t know, but I fancy there is something about the English life that induces one to marry. Existence in England is wretched, unless you have a house of your own. There are no cafés ... your clubs and restaurants are dismal ... and your women are delightful ... how can one hesitate long? In one of the suburbs of London, I have discovered a dear little house, hidden under linden-trees, and covered with virginia creepers, jasmine, and honeysuckle. It took my fancy, and as I looked at the two big bolts on the front door, I thought to myself that, after paying the rent and taxes, it must be pleasant to push over the bolts and feel oneself master of something.... The feeling grows, and sets one thinking that it is time to be getting a little property together.... Yes, decidedly the best thing to be done in England is to marry.”
J. B.—“The young lady has money, I presume?”
Monsieur.—“I don’t know in the least, my friend. You do not imagine, I suppose, that I went to my future father-in-law, and asked him what he was going to give his daughter on her wedding day, as the custom is in France.”