Bev. Why, what's the matter?
Des. Old Laroque is very ill to-night. By the by, what's this he told me about a marriage in the family?
Bev. Quite true. The fair Marguerite has become alive to my merits—she knows me at last.
Des. And accepts you?
Bev. Of course.
Des. Little fool.
Bev. Sir!
Des. I don't mean you.
Bev. Ah!
Des. I tell you what, my friend, you hardly know what you've undertaken. I wish you joy—I wouldn't have the management of girl for a trifle. Ecod! if she takes a fancy to the moon, she'll expect you to give it her.