MME. DUPONT. At any rate I will try. If she hesitates I will make it more. GEORGE. All right. MME. DUPONT [_turning to the nurse_] Nurse, you know that baby is a little ill. NURSE. Oh no, ma’am. MME. DUPONT. Indeed she is. NURSE. I’ve looked after her as well as possible, I know I have, ma’am. MME. DUPONT. I do not say you have not. But she is ill: the doctors say so. NURSE. That’s a fine story! As if doctors weren’t always finding something, so that you mayn’t think they don’t know their business! MME. DUPONT. But our doctor is a great doctor; and you have seen yourself that baby has little pimples. NURSE. Oh ma’am, that’s nothing but the heat of her blood. Don’t you worry about it, I tell you it’s only the strength of her blood. It isn’t my fault. I’ve always done everything for her and kept her that clean and proper. MME. DUPONT. No one says that it is your fault. NURSE. Then what are you finding fault with me about? Ah, there isn’t anything the matter with her. The pretty little darling, she’s a regular town baby she is, just a bit poorly; but she’s all right, I promise you. MME. DUPONT. I tell you she is ill: she has a cold in her head and there are sores at the back of her throat. NURSE. Then that’s because the doctor scratched her with the spoon he put into her mouth by the wrong end. And if she has a little cold, I don’t know when she caught it, I’m sure I don’t: I always keep her that well wrapped up, she has three thicknesses of things on. It must have been when you came the time before last and opened all the windows in the house. MME. DUPONT. But I tell you that nobody is finding fault with you at all. NURSE. Oh yes, I know. That’s all very well. I’m only a poor country girl. MME. DUPONT. What do you mean? NURSE. Oh, that’s all very well, it is. MME. DUPONT. But I have told you over and over again that we have no fault to find. NURSE [_sticking to her idea_] I never expected any unpleasantness when I came here. [_She begins to whimper_]. MME. DUPONT. We have no fault to find with you. Only we want to warn you, you may catch the baby’s illness— NURSE [_sulkily_] Well, if I do catch a cold, it won’t be the first time I’ve had to blow my nose, I suppose. MME. DUPONT. Perhaps you may get her pimples. NURSE [_sneering_] Oh ma’am, we country folks haven’t got nice, delicate, white skins like Paris ladies have. When you have to work in the fields all day, rain or shine, you don’t need to plaster your face all over with cream, I can tell you. No offence meant, but if you want to find an excuse, that isn’t much of a one. MME. DUPONT. What do you mean? What excuse? NURSE. Oh yes, I know. MME. DUPONT. What do you know? NURSE. I’m only a poor country girl, I am. MME. DUPONT. I have not the slightest idea what you mean. NURSE. Oh, I know what I mean. MME. DUPONT. Then tell me what you mean. NURSE. Oh, what’s the good? MME. DUPONT. Tell me, please? I insist. NURSE. Oh, very well— MME. DUPONT. Go on.