PAUL. (_Sits down, then gets up and walks about, agitated_) What a house! And the hosts, and the guests, and everybody else! And Madame Arriégo! And that poet! And the Marquise! And that English iceberg! And Roger the wooden man! The Duchess is the only one with any common-sense! DUCHESS. That for me! PAUL. (_With conviction_) But the rest, oh, my, oh, my! DUCHESS. And that for you! JEANNE. Oh, come, dear, sit by me! PAUL. (_Seating himself, and rising again as before_) And the lectures and the Literature! And Revel’s candidacy! Clever old fox who keeps dying every evening and coming back to life every morning! (_He starts to sit down, then he pauses_) And Saint-Réault! Ah! Saint-Réault! And the _Ramas-Ravanas_ and all the clap-trap about Buddha! MME. DE CÉRAN. (_Indignantly_) Oh! DUCHESS. (_Laughing to herself_) Oh, he’s so funny! PAUL. And the other one, he’s a wonder! Bellac of the many conquests, with his Platonic love!! JEANNE. (_Dropping her eyes_) He’s silly! PAUL. (_Sitting_) Don’t you think so? And that tragedy! Oh, that tragedy! JEANNE. But, Paul, what is it? PAUL. And old Phillippe-Auguste with his beautiful verse! Why, everybody has written verse! That’s no reason why he should read it! I’ve done it myself! JEANNE. You, dear? PAUL. Yes, I! When I was a poor student I even used to sell it! JEANNE. To a publisher? PAUL. No, to a dentist! “Fill-iad, Or the Art of Filling Teeth.”—Poem in three hundred lines!—Thirty Francs—Listen! JEANNE. Oh, no! PAUL. “O Muse, be there an ill, to man the greatest curse, Which Heaven in its wrath spreads o’er the universe, And sorely, you’ll admit, O Muse, good taste offends, It is that one which oftentimes upon the teeth descends!— JEANNE. Oh, Paul! PAUL. “Ah, to tear out that tooth, my cup of joy were full! Nay, friend, it can be cured, stop! do not let them pull! Oh, never pull a tooth, e’en when it rots—you’ll rue it! Let it be filled; but choose a clever man to do it! Protect that little tooth, bi-cuspéd or incisor, ’Twill sweeten every meal—’twill make your smile seem nicer!” DUCHESS. (_Laughing_) Isn’t he amusing! JEANNE. What nonsense you talk! Who would ever believe it to see you in the drawing-room! (_Imitating him_) Ah, yes, Monsieur le sénateur, the tide of democracy—the treaties of 1815—Oh! Oh! OH! PAUL. And you, dear! You certainly have made an impression on the hostess! MME. DE CÉRAN. Hmmm? PAUL. My compliments! JEANNE. But, dearie, I only did what you suggested! PAUL. (_Imitating her_) “I only did what you suggested!”—Ah, little Miss Saintliness with her little voice! Oh, you filled the Countess full—of Joubert and Latin and Tocqueville—your own manufacture, too! MME. DE CÉRAN. What, her own manufacture? DUCHESS. She is lovely! I like her all the more! JEANNE. Well, I don’t feel any remorse—A woman who puts us in separate rooms! MME. DE CÉRAN. (_Rising_) And suppose I tell her to leave! DUCHESS. Be still!