Cha. My mother used to play it to me when I was a little child!
Luc. Have you any control over yourself?
Cha. Most certainly, a good deal even; ask me to prove it.
Luc. You would not grant what I ask.
Cha. I wouldn’t. Ah, madam! you want to send me away.
Luc. Not at all: only I wished to explain to you, that, never having worn a thick veil in a room, I’m simply stifling.
Cha. I can quite believe you. Nothing, nothing is so dangerous as a thick veil: you must take it off at once,—you must.
Luc. If you can sufficiently control yourself to sit in a chair here without turning your head, I will sit behind you, and we can finish our conversation without my being stifled.
Cha. (reproachfully). What, madam!
Luc. Well, you must choose; for, as I don’t want to die of suffocation, I shall be forced to give you your congé.