Mad. de. P.—Ah, madam, do me the honour of seating yourself. An arm-chair for the Lady Tullia.
Tullia.—For whom? me, madam? and am I to sit on that little incommodious sort of throne, so that my legs must hang down and become quite red?
Mad. de P.—Upon what then would you sit?
Tullia.—Madam, upon a couch.
Mad. de P.—Ay, I understand—you would say upon a sofa; there stands one, upon which you may recline at your ease.
Tullia.—I am charmed to see that the French have furniture as convenient as ours.
Mad. de P.—Hah, hah, madam, you've no stockings! your legs are naked, but ornamented, however, with a very pretty ribbon, after the fashion of a sandal.
Tullia.—We knew nothing about stockings, which, as a useful and agreeable invention, I certainly prefer to our sandals.
Mad. da P.—Good heavens, madam, I believe you've no chemise!
Tullia.—No, madam, in my time nobody wore one.