Henri. The lover of my wife.
[Prosper looks at him; at this moment he obviously has the feeling that it might be true.]
Henri (looks up). Well, yes, I've done it. What are you looking at me like that for? That's how the matter stands. Is it, then, so wonderful after all? You all know what kind of a creature my wife is; it was bound to end like that.
Host. And she—where is she?
François. See, the host takes it seriously. You notice how realistic that makes the thing.
[Noise outside—not too loud.]
Jules. What noise is that outside?
Marquis. Do you hear, Séverine?
Rollin. It sounds as though troops were marching by.
François. Oh, no; it is our dear people of Paris. Just listen how they bawl. (Uneasiness in the cellar; it grows quiet outside.) Go on, Henri—go on.