Monsieur--Come, tell it me, you see that I am patient. If it is possible to gratify it, you know that I love you, my . . . Don't kiss me on the neck; you will make me jump up to the ceiling, my darling. Madame--Repeat those two little words. I am your darling, then? Monsieur--Ha! ha! ha! She has little fingers which --ha! ha!-- go into your neck--ha! ha!--you will make me break something, nervous as I am. Madame--Well, break something. If one may not touch one's husband, one may as well go into a convent at once. (She puts her lips to MONSIEUR'S ear and coquettishly pulls the end of his moustache.) I shall not be happy till I have what I am longing for, and then it would be so kind of you to do it. Monsieur--Kind to do what? Come, dear, explain yourself. Madame--You must first of all take off that great, ugly dressing-gown, pull on your boots, put on your hat and go. Oh, don't make any faces; if you grumble in the least all the merit of your devotedness will disappear . . . and go to the grocer's at the corner of the street, a very respectable shop. Monsieur--To the grocer's at ten o'clock at night! Are you mad? I will ring for John; it is his business. Madame (staying his hand) You indiscreet man. These are our own private affairs; we must not take any one into our confidence. I will go into your dressing-room to get your things, and you will put your boots on before the fire comfortably . . . to please me, Alfred, my love, my life. I would give my little finger to have . . . Monsieur--To have what, hang it all, what, what, what? Madame--(her face alight and fixing her eyes on him)--I want a sou's worth of paste. Had not you guessed it? Monsieur--But it is madness, delirium, fol-- Madame--I said paste, dearest; only a sou's worth, wrapped in strong paper. Monsieur--No, no. I am kind-hearted, but I should reproach myself-- Madame--(closing his mouth with her little hands)--Oh, not a word; you are going to utter something naughty. But when I tell you that I have a mad longing for it, that I love you as I have never loved you yet, that my mother had the same desire--Oh! my poor mother (she weeps in her hands), if she could only know, if she were not at the other end of France. You have never cared for my parents; I saw that very well on our wedding-day, and (she sobs) it will be the sorrow of my whole life. Monsieur--(freeing himself and suddenly rising)--Give me my boots. Madame--(with effusion)--Oh, thanks, Alfred, my love, you are good, yes, you are good. Will you have your walking-stick, dear? Monsieur--I don't care. How much do you want of that abomination--a franc's worth, thirty sous' worth, a louis' worth? Madame--You know very well that I would not make an abuse of it-only a sou's worth. I have some sous for mass; here, take one. Adieu, Alfred; be quick; be quick! (Exit MONSIEUR.)