Madame Leverdet—No, I will not shake hands with you.
De Ryons—Then I shall die of chagrin—that's all about it.
Madame Leverdet—Do you know how you will end, you incorrigible creature? When you are fifty years old you will have rheumatism.
De Ryons—Yes, or sciatica. But I shall find some one who will embroider me warm slippers.
Madame Leverdet—Indeed you will not! You will marry your cook.
De Ryons—That depends on how well she cooks. Again farewell, dear madam.
Madame Leverdet—No, stay one moment.
De Ryons—It is you who are keeping me; so look out.
Madame Leverdet—Let me have really your last word on the whole matter.
De Ryons—It is very easily given. There are just two kinds of women: those who are good women, and those who are not.