I have become quite accustomed to hunting. Every day I catch partridges, rabbits and the like, and the dear little animals are getting more and more practice in being caught. (He spreads out his bag.) Now the season of the nightingales is over, I do not hear a single one singing.
[Enter the two lovers.]
HE.
Go, you bore me.
SHE.
I am disgusted with you.
HE.
A fine kind of love!
SHE.
Wretched hypocrite, how you have deceived me!