_Fournichon._ And what about your coiffures?
_Charles._ Why, that’s true! What can have become of them!
_Fournichon._ Oh! good heavens! here they are, lying on the ground like any old rubbish! [_Picks them up, along with the hat and cap._] Just look!—they are not worth a cent now!
_John._ Oh! just put the things away—we don’t want them any more,—and if they’re spoilt, we’ll pay for them.
_Fournichon._ In that case, sir, it doesn’t matter. [_Lays everything on a table. The bell rings._] Hé! who’s that now?
_Charles._ It doesn’t matter to me who it is. Any one may come who likes—I’m not going to act in this farce any longer.
_Fournichon_ (_looks through the door_). Look out, gentlemen—it’s the agent—Bom de Sac!
_John and Charles_ (_springing up_). That fellow! No! that will never do! [_They sit down at the table, as before, and put on their headdresses, but without seeing that they have taken the wrong ones, John putting on the grey wig and cap,—Charles, the curls and round straw hat. Bom de Sac heard speaking outside the door_:]—No, _sacré nom de nom_! Mijnheer Meyer has lent me a hand. What are people thinking of? It was not for nothing I was wounded eleven times in ten battles, with the 9th Regiment. They are here—I’m certain of that! [_Enters._]
_Fournichon._ Search as much as you like, sir, but remember, if you please, that, in the presence of ladies....
_Bom de Sac._ Of course, of course! I always said, “_Honneur aux dames_.” [_Looks at the ladies and salutes, then takes a step backward in amazement._] _Sacré nom de guerre!_
_Bom de Sac._ Have I come to my age—not to speak of twelve wounds in eleven battles—to let myself be fooled like this?
_Bom de Sac._ No, perhaps not. But I understand how it is possible for these ladies to have changed heads at a moment’s notice. Look here! [_He takes off the wigs._] The young lady is getting grey, and the grandmother is going backwards to her childhood. Come with me, now, gentlemen—I arrest you both!
_Fournichon._ Your own fault, gentlemen. I wash my hands of the whole business.
_Charles._ We have a word to say to that, John.
_Bom de Sac._ Gentlemen, conspiracies or plots in which more than one person are concerned are forbidden by law. Will you come with me, or not?