Charles. We have put him out at the door as quietly and deliberately as possible.
Fournichon. Well—and why?
John. Because he bored us too much. He was so delighted with the mechanism of the figures, that we might have kept on dancing till to-morrow morning if we had not put an end to the business ourselves.
Fournichon. And what about your coiffures?
Charles. Why, that’s true! What can have become of them!
Fournichon. Oh! good heavens! here they are, lying on the ground like any old rubbish! [Picks them up, along with the hat and cap.] Just look!—they are not worth a cent now!
John. Oh! just put the things away—we don’t want them any more,—and if they’re spoilt, we’ll pay for them.
Fournichon. In that case, sir, it doesn’t matter. [Lays everything on a table. The bell rings.] Hé! who’s that now?
Charles. It doesn’t matter to me who it is. Any one may come who likes—I’m not going to act in this farce any longer.
Fournichon (looks through the door). Look out, gentlemen—it’s the agent—Bom de Sac!