Madame Bail. As a matter of fact, I hope the weather will be nice.
Lamblin. Do you have to go out?
Madame Bail. I must go to Argentuil.
Lamblin. Now, my dear mother-in-law, what are you going to do at Argentuil? I have an idea that there must be some old general there—?
MADAME BAIL [ironically]. Exactly! How would you like it if—?
Lamblin. Don't joke about such things!
Madame Bail. You needn't worry! Catch me marrying again!
Lamblin [timidly]. There is a great deal to be said for the happiness of married life.
Madame Bail. For the men!
Lamblin. For every one. Is not the hearth a refuge, a sacred spot, where both man and woman find sweet rest after a day's work? Deny it, Mother. Here we are, the three of us, each doing what he likes to do, in our comfortable little home, talking together happily. The mind is at rest, and the heart quiet. Six years of family life have brought us security in our affection, and rendered us kind and indulgent toward one another. It is ineffably sweet, and brings tears to the eyes. [He starts to take a sip of cognac.]