Countess. Hé!
Prince. What is it they say?
Countess. But what is the subject?
Prince. There is no subject! It is a witty trifle, I told you—a nothing—an improvisation without substance—a go-as-you-please conversation—I am not proposing that you should write “The Misanthrope,”[11] remember.
Countess. Yet it is necessary to know what they are to talk about.
Prince. But about nothing—about trifles—you know how those things are!
Countess. But, no, my dear Prince, I know nothing about it—and no more do you, so it would seem.
Prince. Come, chère madame, do not let us quarrel. We said, “The Count and the Countess,” is it not so? They are in the country—and the Count is bored, I suppose—
Countess. Yes, that’s new enough.
Prince. I do not say that it must be new, but at any rate it is a subject, since you must have one. So then, the Count is bored—and the Countess—the Countess—