Madame P. No logic at all; it’s absurd.
Paul. He says, “You ought to work!” Many thanks! Your humble servant! I’m not a horse, I suppose.
Madame P. Your uncle has no refinement.
Paul. No, Maman; it is a tragedy.
Madame P. A tragedy, indeed, mon cher!
Paul. And a terrible one! There’s no need of murder and poison to make a tragedy.
Madame P. Do you know, Paul, I think the best thing would be for you to marry.
Paul. I’ve no objection. But whom should I marry?
Madame P. Ah, that is the question. I know you well, Paul. Why are you so highly educated? Why have you such a sensitive nature? It will make you unhappy all your life long. There is no mate for you! To win your love and make you happy, a girl would need too many virtues.
Paul. You perhaps imagine, Maman, that domestic felicity has attractions for me? I’m not a child; I am twenty-one. That is too Arcadian! (Bursts out laughing.) I simply want money.