Arg. And then?
Lou. Then my mamma came to the door, and, he escaped.
Arg. Nothing else?
Lou. No, dear papa.
Arg. Here is my little finger, which says something though. (Putting his finger up to his ear.) Wait. Stay, eh? ah! ah! Yes? oh! oh! here is my little finger, which says that there is something you saw, and which you do not tell me.
Lou. Ah! papa, your little finger is a story-teller.
Arg. Take care.
Lou. No, don’t believe him; he tells a story, I assure you.
Arg. Oh! Well, well; we will see to that. Go away now, and pay great attention to what you see. (Alone.) Ah! children are no longer children nowadays! What trouble! I have not even enough leisure to attend to my illness. I am quite done up. (He falls down into his chair.)