Dumont. But I saw it.
Macaire. Impossible. It must be yours.
Dumont. It is like mine, indeed. How came it in your pocket?
Macaire. Bitten! (Aside.)
Bertrand. Sold again! (Aside) ... You forget, Baron, it’s the key of my valise; I gave it you to keep in consequence of the hole in my pocket.
Macaire. True, true; and that explains.
Dumont. O, that explains. Now, all we have to do is to find mine. It’s a patent key. You heard it drop.
Macaire. Distinctly.
Bertrand. So I did: distinctly.