M. Jour. What! when I say, "Nicole, bring me my slippers, and give me my nightcap," is that prose?
Prof. Phil. Yes, sir.
M. Jour. Upon my word, I have been speaking prose these forty years without being aware of it; and I am under the greatest obligation to you for informing me of it. Well, then, I wish to write to her in a letter, "Fair Marchioness, your beautiful eyes make me die of love;" but I would have this worded in a genteel manner, and turned prettily.
Prof. Phil. Say that the fire of her eyes has reduced your heart to ashes; that you suffer day and night for her, tortures—
M. Jour. No, no, no, I don't any of that. I simply wish for what I tell you,—"Fair Marchioness, your beautiful eyes make me die of love."
Prof. Phil. Still, you might amplify the thing a little.
M. Jour. No, I tell you, I will have nothing but these very words in the letter; but they must be put in a fashionable way, and arranged as they should be. Pray show me a little, so that I may see the different ways in which they can be put.
Prof. Phil. They may be put first of all, as you have said, "Fair Marchioness, your beautiful eyes make me die of love;" or else, "Of love die make me, fair Marchioness, your beautiful eyes;" or, "Your beautiful eyes of love make me, fair Marchioness, die;" or, "Die of love your beautiful eyes, fair Marchioness, make me;" or else, "Me make your beautiful eyes die, fair Marchioness, of love."
M. Jour. But of all these ways, which is the best?
Prof. Phil. The one you said,—"Fair Marchioness, your beautiful eyes make me die of love."