Albin. It bewilders me in the extreme.
François. The Chevalier has only been in Paris a few days.
Duke (laughing). Then you have certainly chosen a nice time.
Albin. How so?
Michette. He still has that delicious perfume! There isn't another man in Paris who has such a pleasant smell. (To Albin. ) ... You can't perceive it like that.
Duke. She speaks of the seven or eight hundred whom she knows as well as me.
Flipotte. Will you let me play with your sword, dear?
[She draws his sword out of its sheath and flashes it about.]
Grain (to Host). He's the man—'twas him I saw her with—
[Host lets him go on, seems astonished.]