Des. Ah! and then there'll be nothing to dust.

Mad. V. Monsieur, I repeat it—you're unfeeling. But I, who loved and served his dear mother, whom he so much resembles—

Des. Not a bit—hasn't a look of her. The father, the father all over.

Mad. V. Of course. So you always say, and everybody knows why. You loved the poor Marchioness, offered her your hand, and she preferred the Marquis.

Des. Madame!

Mad. V. I don't care. I will speak my mind. And because she refused you, you have no regard for her son.

Des. Madame!

Mad. V. But if he has his father's face, he has his mother's heart.

Des. Much you know about it.

Mad. V. And who should know if I don't? Havn't I attended him since he was an infant?