Marcel. What a child you are!
Marcel. I should think so! Sometimes I imagine that my happiness does not lie altogether in those sparkling eyes of yours and I try to fall in love with another woman; I fall in deeper and deeper for a week or two, and think I am terribly infatuated. But just as I am about to take the fatal leap, I fail: Françoise' luck, you see! At bottom, I'm a commencer; I can't imagine what it is that saves me—and you. Sometimes she has done something to displease me, sometimes a divine word from your lips—and a mere nothing, something quite insignificant! For instance, Wednesday, I missed the train, and came back and had dinner with you. You see, Françoise' luck!
Françoise. Then you're not going out to-day, are you?
Marcel. Nor to-morrow; the whole day is yours. We'll close the door.
Françoise. Aren't you happy?
Marcel [kissing her behind the ear]. Hurry up, you lazy child!
Françoise. I'm not pretty, but I have my good points.
Marcel. Not pretty?
Françoise. No, but I deserve to be.
[Madeleine appears at the back.]