Peale. She is. Go to it.
Mary. But how can you sell her your agency?
Rodney. I don’t know—how can I?
Peale. A pipe. Ask her if she’s superstitious?
Rodney. Oh, if I only knew how to talk French!—Madame—êtes-vous superstitious?
Countess. Eh?
Rodney. I mean—superstitieuse? (Countess looks blank)
Peale. She doesn’t get you.
Rodney. No.
Peale. (He goes and takes the Countess’ parasol) Pardon me.... (Starts to raise it. With a cry of protest: “Faites pas ça”, she stops him) She’s superstitious, all right—(To her) It ought to be a pipe to land you.