Bom de Sac. White hats, you say? The devil!—that must be they, and they shan’t escape me this time. [Exit.] It’s not for nothing that I had ten wounds in nine battles when serving with the Eighth.
Charles. Bad luck to the fellow! he has made it warm for us!
John. If it had lasted any longer, I am sure I should have made some remarks on my own account. If some one else comes, we really must find some other place, for I really can’t sit still so long in these blessed skirts.
Charles. Shall we stand up then?
John. Why not. [Jumps on one of the chests.] Look here, I’ll bet you anything you like I can stand half-an-hour like this without moving. Don’t I look like a waxwork figure of summer?
Charles. The devil you are! [Gets on the other chest.] And I winter, to match.
Fournichon. Splendid, gentlemen, it couldn’t be finer. Just stand still like that. [A ring at the bell.]
Charles (getting down). Preserve us!—now we’re in for it.
John. No, Charles, stick to your post.
Charles. I can’t possibly stand still all that time.