Cha. When one is compelled to separate one’s self from a husband that one loves, one is not so light-hearted as you were just now, and—
Luc. Really, sir!
Cha. Madam, pardon me, but you do not evidently possess a husband who would make you cry out in the words of Sterne, “Oh, Love, king of gods and men!” Now, if it had been my fate to have crossed your path, I swear that—
Luc. And I swear to you, sir, that I would never marry a man who was too lazy to do any thing.
Cha. Madam, you have read my letter.
Luc. I, sir? oh, dear, no! I can assure you I only looked at it. By the way, would you mind informing me how it is that you came to inhabit this room?
Cha. Well, the fact is, I went to sleep on the sofa: I’ve some faint recollection of the landlord coming in and asking me something about moving out; but he was so long about it that I fell asleep again, and during that time I fancy he had me quietly carried, sofa and all, into the next room. By the way, I have a charming idea.
Luc. May I venture to ask it? (Aside.) I should like to have a look at this man.
Cha. Madam, in the East, you are aware that a veil is a protecting wall between man and woman. If you would endeavor to put on such a veil, and would do me the honor of granting me an interview,—the landlord can supply us with refreshments,—we can converse more easily than through this partition; in fact, we shall be in the East; and, further, I pledge myself on my honor as a gentleman, that nothing shall in any way cause you to regret our interview.
Luc. (aside). His letter announces that he intends to risk his fortune. What if I could dissuade him? it would at least be the act of a Christian, and—and a woman.