Françoise. What sort of woman is she?
Marcel. Lively.
Françoise. Though virtuous?
Marcel. So they say.
Françoise. Then Madame Guérin and the handsome Martel—eh?
Marcel. A friend's wife?
Françoise. It's very tempting—[Marcel seems to take this with ill-humor; he is about to put on his hat.] Are you going out?
Marcel. I lunch at the club.
Françoise. Very well.
Marcel. I'm—a little nervous; I need a breath of air.