Prof. Phil. It must be one or the other.
M. Jour. Why?
Prof. Phil. Because, sir, there is nothing by which we can express ourselves except prose or verse.
M. Jour. There is nothing but prose or verse?
Prof. Phil. No, sir. Whatever is not prose, is verse; and whatever is not verse, is prose.
M. Jour. And when we speak, what is that, then?
Prof. Phil. Prose.
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 gallant manner, turned genteelly.