[_Taking a cigarette, replacing the box, and holding the spirit lamp while he lights his cigarette from it._] You were not always so impatient. [_In lighting his cigarette, the flame of the lamp is blown out._] Ah! [_After replacing the lamp, she lights her cigarette from his, gazing into his eyes._] Argyropulos. [_Dreamily._] Once more--Argyropulos. QUEX. Yes, yes--capital tobacco. [_He gets away from her._ DUCHESS. And look! you see, Harry? QUEX. [_Turning._] Eh? DUCHESS. [_Pointing to the bottle of champagne._] "Félix Poubelle, Carte d'Or"! [_Taking up the scissors which she has left upon the table._] The wire is already severed. [_She commences to cut the string. He comes to her._ QUEX. [_Taking the scissors from her._] Oh, permit me. [_Always intent upon avoiding her, he moves away, the bottle in his hand, cutting the string._ DUCHESS. [_Following him._] Is it likely to make a loud report? QUEX. Hardly. DUCHESS. [_Frowning censoriously._] One doesn't want a sound of that sort to ring through the corridors. [_Looking about her impatiently._] These formal, frigid rooms! [_She runs lightly into the bedroom, snatches a pillow from the bed, and returns to him._ QUEX. [_His hand upon the cork._] What is that for? DUCHESS. [_Enveloping his hand and the bottle in the pillow--calmly._] It is wiser to muffle it. [_He pauses, looking at her fixedly._ QUEX. [_In a low, grave voice._] Dolly-- DUCHESS. Dolly! [_Closing her eyes._] You give me my pet name again! QUEX. Ah, Dolly, if only there wasn't quite so much in one's life--to muffle! [_He pulls the cork. She tosses the pillow on to the settee, a little irritably._] May I--? [_She inclines her head. He pours wine into the glasses; she takes the champagne glass, he the tumbler._ DUCHESS. [_Sentimentally._] Félix Poubelle, Carte d'Or! [_Looking at him over the brim of her glass._] _Eh bien! au joyeux passé!_ QUEX. _Non, non--à un avenir meilleur!_ DUCHESS. _Que vous êtes prosaïque! soit!_ [_They drink. She sits, with a sigh of dissatisfaction._] Ah! QUEX. [_Leaning against the table, drinking his wine._] Wonderful wine--really exceptional. [_Struck by a thought, turning to her._] Forgive me--you must have found some difficulty in introducing Monsieur Félix Poubelle into this hallowed apartment. DUCHESS. No. [_Sipping her wine._] My maid thinks it is by my doctor's orders. QUEX. Your maid, yes--[_sipping his wine; then sitting upon the settee, glass in hand_] but my poor aunt must be highly scandalised. DUCHESS. [_Her glass at her lips._] Dear Lady Owbridge will not know. I told the girl to coax it out of the butler, as if it were for herself. These women have a way of doing such things. QUEX. [_Laughing rather sadly._] Ha, ha, ha! who is beyond temptation? Not even old Bristow--sixty if he's a day. DUCHESS. [_Shrugging her shoulders._] Sixty or sixteen--when a girl is fascinating-- QUEX. Fascinating! your woman, Watson! DUCHESS.