LAMBLIN. How childish of you! You know very well that you are the only woman, only-- MADAME COGÉ. Ah, there is an "only"! LAMBLIN. Yes,--only, just because I love you is no reason why I should feel no affection for her, and that you should treat her as you do! She is so devoted! MADAME COGÉ. What is there so extraordinary about her? LAMBLIN [_becoming excited_]. She does for me what others would not do--you for instance! She has a steady affection for me; I keep it for my bad moments; her action doesn't turn in every wind. You should see her, so resigned, so anxious to do everything for my comfort and convenience! She's worried when I have a headache, she runs for my slippers when I come home in wet weather--from your house! [_Deeply moved._] You see that cognac there? That was the second glass I poured out for myself this evening; the moment I started to drink it her little hand stretched forth and took it from me, because she said I would make myself ill! [_He starts to weep._] You know, I poured it out just in order that she should prevent my drinking it. These things stir the heart! [_A pause._] Now you must go. MADAME COGÉ. No, no. I love you, and I-- LAMBLIN. You are selfish. And you know I can't stand selfish people. You want to deprive me of a quiet evening in the bosom of my family. MADAME COGÉ. I want you to love me, and me alone. I want you to leave your home if need be. LAMBLIN. Yes, and if I were to fall sick--which might happen, though I have a strong constitution, thank God!--I know you. You're the best woman in the world, but that doesn't prevent your being a little superficial! MADAME COGÉ. Superficial! LAMBLIN. Yes, you are, and you can't deny it! Your dropping in on me, like a bolt from the blue, proves it conclusively. And when you once begin chattering about yourself, about your dresses, oh, my! You never stop. You can't be serious, your conversation is not the sort that pleases a man, flatters and amuses him. MADAME COGÉ. Oh! LAMBLIN. You never talk about _him_! One night I remember, I was a little sick and you sent me home. _There_ they made tea for me. The cook was already in bed, and Marthe didn't hesitate an instant to go to the kitchen and soil her hands! MADAME COGÉ. When was that? When was that? LAMBLIN. For God's sake, don't scream so! Not more than two weeks ago. MADAME COGÉ. You didn't say what was the matter with you, that's all. LAMBLIN. I complained enough, Heaven knows. [_A pause._] MADAME COGÉ. Then you won't come? LAMBLIN. No. MADAME COGÉ [_resolutely_]. Very well, then, farewell. LAMBLIN. Now, you mustn't get angry. [_He puts his arm round her waist_]. You know I can't do without you. You are always my dear little Mathilde, my darling little girl. Aren't you? Do you remember yesterday, eh? You know I love you--deeply? MADAME COGÉ. On Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and from time to time on Sundays. Thanks! [_She starts to go._] LAMBLIN. Mathilde!