Marcaire. Now, my lord, follow me: I take them up; you see? I put them in my pocket; you follow me? This is my hat; here is my stick; and here is my—my friend’s bundle.
Marquis. But that is my cloak.
Marcaire. Precisely. Now, my lord, one more effort of your lordship’s mind. If I were to go out of that door, with the full intention—follow me close—the full intention of never being heard of more, what would you do?
Marquis. I!—send for the police.
Marcaire. Take your money! (Dashing down the notes.) Man, if I met you in a lane! (He drops his head upon the table.)
Marquis. The poor soul is insane. The other man, whom I suppose to be his keeper, is very much to blame.
Marcaire (raising his head). I have a light! (To Marquis.) With invincible oafishness, my lord, I cannot struggle. I pass you by; I leave you gaping by the wayside; I blush to have a share in the progeny of such an owl. Off, off, and send the tapster!
Marquis. Poor fellow! (Exit.)
SCENE V
Marcaire, to whom Bertrand. Afterwards Dumont