"I am very impatient to see you, and Very anxious to see Madame Desroches. I wonder whether she will take to me? I hope she will. Take care, you villain, I shall cross-question her carefully, and if I find the slightest shadow upon her happiness, her friend-to-be will be an angry man." [_She stops reading and says to herself, sadly._] A friend--I should like that!
MARCEL [_carelessly dressed. He is of the type that appeals to women_]. Ah, inquisitive, you read my letters?
FRANÇOISE. I found it there, when I was putting the studio in order.
MARCEL [_tenderly_]. The little romantic child is looking for a friend?
FRANÇOISE. I have so much to tell, so much about my recent happiness!
FRANÇOISE. You are the man I love. Should I consult with you, where your happiness is concerned?
MARCEL. Too deep for me! [_Yawning._] Oh, I'm tired!
FRANÇOISE. Did you come in late last night?
FRANÇOISE. You were very quiet, you naughty man!
FRANÇOISE. The idea! I am morally certain that you love no one except your wife.
MARCEL [_sadly_]. It's true, I love no one except my wife.
FRANÇOISE [_chaffing him in turn_]. Poor Marcel!
MARCEL. I was bored to death at that supper; I can't imagine why.--They all tell me I'm getting stout.
FRANÇOISE. That's no reason why you shouldn't please.
MARCEL [_stretching out on a sofa_]. Excuse my appearance, won't you, Françoise? [_Making himself comfortable._] I can't keep my eyes open any longer nowadays. The days of my youth--Why, I was--[_He stops._]
FRANÇOISE. You were just the right age for marriage.
MARCEL [_as if to banish the idea_]. Oh! [_A pause._] I'm sure you will get along well with Guérin. Yours are kindred spirits--you're alike--not in looks, however.
MARCEL. Yes, The comparison flatters him.
FRANÇOISE. He's like this, then; sentimental, a good friend, and a man of honor. Yes, I think I shall get along nicely with him.
MARCEL. What a sympathetic nature you have! You've never seen him, and you know him already.
FRANÇOISE. Then Madame Guérin and the handsome Martel--eh?
FRANÇOISE. It's very tempting--[_Marcel seems to take this with ill-humor; he is about to put on his hat._] Are you going out?
MARCEL. I'm--a little nervous; I need a breath of air.
FRANÇOISE. It's only ten days before the Salon: you'll never be ready.