Michel (entering). Ah! Lustucru, what shall I do? Moumouth will not eat his breakfast. All appetite is fled. He is breaking his heart for the Countess. Alas! what shall I do?
Lustucru. I heard your complaint last night, dear Mother Michel, and I have mixed a most appetizing hash. It is for our charming Moumouth.
Michel (gratefully). Lustucru, you are a miracle of goodness. I have it in my heart to embrace you. I shall bless you always.
Lustucru. Thanks for your prayers, Michel: prayers are what I most delight in.
Michel. But the hash, Lustucru? Let me hasten to my pining Moumouth, my poor sufferer.
Lustucru (presenting the poisoned dish). Here, Michel, and bless you! And bless Moumouth too, although he hates me. Thank Heaven, I have a forgiving nature.
Michel (transported). Lustucru, you are an angel. Adieu; Moumouth awaits me. I fly, but I bless you. Lustucru, I love you.
[Exit Michel with hash.]
Lustucru (sneeringly). Love me, do you? Ah! Lustucru's an angel, a miracle of goodness! But what is this? Michel returns. [Enter Michel.] Ah! Michel, can you not find Moumouth?