Dumont. It’s very singular.
Macaire. Diabolishly singular.
Bertrand. Early worms, early worms!
Dumont (blowing in key). Well, I suppose you are still willing to begone?
Macaire. More than willing, my dear soul: pressed, I may say, for time; for though it had quite escaped my memory, I have an appointment in Turin with a lady of title.
Dumont (at box). It’s very odd. (Blows its key.) It’s a singular thing (blowing), key won’t turn. It’s a patent. Some one must have tampered with the lock (blowing). It’s strangely singular, it’s singularly singular! I’ve shown this key to commercial gentlemen all the way from Paris: they never saw a better key! (more business). Well (giving it up and looking reproachfully on key), that’s pretty singular.
Macaire. Let me try. (He tries, and flings down the key with a curse.) Bitten.
Bertrand. Sold again.
Dumont (picking up key). It’s a patent key.
Macaire (to Bertrand). The game’s up: we must save the swag. (To Dumont.) Sir, since your key, on which I invoke the blight of Egypt, has once more defaulted, my feelings are unequal to a repetition of yesterday’s distress, and I shall simply pad the hoof. From Turin you shall receive the address of my banker, and may prosperity attend your ventures. (To Bertrand.) Now, boy! (To Dumont.) Embrace my fatherless child! farewell! (Macaire and Bertrand turn to go off and are met in the door by the Gendarmes.)