_Countess._ There, there’s paper and ink--blue ink; is that all right? _Prince._ Blue ink will do no harm. (_Places himself at a centre-table._) There! Sit down in front of me, like a muse, and let us begin without further ceremony, will you? _Countess._ Very willingly--but it’s rather embarrassing, it seems to me. _Prince._ Not at all. It’s very easy. Always the same thing: Two people who chat about the rain and about fine weather--more or less wittily, as it happens to come. Well, are you ready? _Countess._ Yes, yes--go on. _Prince._ First we must write down the persons: “The Count, the Countess ----,” is it not? _Countess._ Yes, of course--but is this to be a _proverbe_? _Prince._ Yes, it’s a _proverbe_. _Countess._ But what _proverbe_? That must be decided first. _Prince._ Oh! Mon Dieu, why? It’s of no use--it will develop itself in time--it will evolve naturally from the conversation--it will be the finishing touch. _Countess._ So be it. Go on. _Prince._ “The Count, the Countess. First scene--” Well? _Countess._ Hé! _Prince._ What is it they say? _Countess._ But what is the subject? _Prince._ There is no subject! It is a witty trifle, I told you--a nothing--an improvisation without substance--a go-as-you-please conversation--I am not proposing that you should write “The Misanthrope,”[11] remember. _Countess._ Yet it is necessary to know what they are to talk about. _Prince._ But about nothing--about trifles--you know how those things are! _Countess._ But, no, my dear Prince, I know nothing about it--and no more do you, so it would seem. _Prince._ Come, chère madame, do not let us quarrel. We said, “The Count and the Countess,” is it not so? They are in the country--and the Count is bored, I suppose-- _Countess._ Yes, that’s new enough. _Prince._ I do not say that it must be new, but at any rate it is a subject, since you must have one. So then, the Count is bored--and the Countess--the Countess-- _Countess._ Is bored too, perhaps? _Prince._ It’s an idea, and with that combination, too, may become original enough. They are both bored--Well, you see, chère madame, we are progressing. Let us pass on to the dialogue--That, that’s the easiest--Once in the dialogue it will go by itself--“The Count--” The Count--he enters, doesn’t he? _Countess._ Quite right. _Prince._ And in entering, he says-- _Countess._ He says? _Prince._ What? _Countess._ I am asking you. _Prince._ Well--he might say, for instance, “Always alone, dear Countess?” _Countess._ I see nothing inappropriate in that. _Prince._ It’s sufficiently the phrase of a bored man--“Always alone, dear Countess?” _Countess._ It’s a charming phrase--To which the Countess, who is always alone, replies? _Prince._ Wait--yes--perhaps--that is to say, no--that will not do. _Countess._ Instead of entering the diplomatic service you ought to devote yourself to literature--with your facility.