JEANNE. I should say, the art of being bored! PAUL. Precisely! JEANNE. But if everyone bores everyone else, what possible influence can it all have? PAUL. What influence? How simple you are! You ask what influence can boredom exert, here in this country? A great deal, I tell you. You see, the Frenchman has a horror of boredom amounting almost to veneration. _Ennui_ is for him a terrible god whose worship is celebrated by good form. He recognizes nothing as serious unless it is in regulation dress. I don’t say that he practises what he preaches, but that is only a further reason for believing more firmly: he prefers believing to finding out for himself. I tell you, this nation, which is at bottom gay, despises itself for being so; it has forgotten its faith in the good common sense of its generous laughter; this sceptical and talkative nation believes in those who have little to say, this whole-hearted and amiable people allows itself to be imposed upon by pedantic false pride and the pretentious asininity of the pontiffs of the white dress necktie: in politics, in science, in art, in literature, in everything! These they scoff at, hate, flee as from a pestilence, yet they alone preserve for these things a secret admiration and perfect confidence! And you ask what influence has boredom? Ah, my dear girl, there are just two kinds of people in the world: those who don’t know how to bore themselves, and who are nobodies; and those who know how to bore themselves, and who are somebody—besides those who know how to bore others! JEANNE. And this is the place you’ve brought me to! PAUL. Do you want to be a Prefect’s wife? Tell me? JEANNE. Oh, to begin with, I could never—— PAUL. Oh, never mind! It’s only for a week! JEANNE. A week! Without speaking, without laughing, without being kissed by you! PAUL. That’s before company; but when we are alone—in the dark, oh, then! Why, it will be delightful; we’ll arrange secret meetings, in the garden, everywhere—just as we did before we were married—at your father’s, do you remember? JEANNE. Very well, very well! (_She opens the piano and plays an air from La Fille de Madame Angot_) PAUL. (_Terrified_) Very well, then! What are you doing there? JEANNE. It’s from the opera we saw last night! PAUL. My poor child, so this is the way you follow my advice! JEANNE. We sat in a box together—wasn’t it lovely, Paul! PAUL. Jeanne! Jeanne!—What if someone should come in! Please! (FRANCOIS _appears at the back_.) PAUL. Too late! (JEANNE _changes the air she was playing into a Beethoven Symphony. Aside_) Beethoven,—Bravo! (_He listens to the music with profound satisfaction_) Ah, it’s a fact that the only place for music is the _Conservatoire_! FRANCOIS. Madame la Comtesse requests Monsieur le sous-préfet to wait five minutes for her: she is in consultation with Monsieur le baron Eriel de Saint-Réault. PAUL. The Orientalist?