_Luc._ (_aside_). I understand. (_Aloud._) I don’t understand you, sir; and, inasmuch as I’ve done what you desire, I must beg that we have no further conversation, as I shall refuse to answer. _Cha._ Why, may I ask? I was asleep just now, and dreaming charmingly. If you like, I’ll tell you the dream. _Luc._ Certainly not, sir. _Cha._ Very good: it’ll keep for another time; but then, inasmuch as it was you that woke me up, permit me at least to converse with you as a compensation. _Luc._ (_aside_). He is not stupid. _Cha._ I beg pardon: did you speak? _Luc._ (_aside_). What have I to dread? He seems a gentleman. (_Aloud._) Well, sir, proceed, as you consider yourself aggrieved; only remember that I trust to your feelings as a gentleman, and your discretion. _Cha._ Madam, you may depend upon it. (_Wheeling arm-chair to door, and speaking through keyhole._) Are you married? _Luc._ (_affronted and aside_). Upon my word! (_Aloud._) Do you call that discretion, sir? _Cha._ Most certainly; as a subject of conversation I see nothing against it. Society prescribes certain forms of conversation; and, to ascertain what forms to use, one must know whether one is speaking to a widow or a young girl, to an old maid or a married woman. _Luc._ In—I—I am married. _Cha._ (_aside_). So much the worse. I, madam, am a bachelor, and I’m going to Baden. Where may you be going? _Luc._ A long way off, sir. _Cha._ To— _Luc._ To rejoin my husband, naturally. _Cha._ By the way, madam, do you love your husband? _Luc._ Excuse me, sir, but, if you don’t mind, we’ll change the conversation. _Cha._ Whatever pleases you, madam, pleases me. (_Pause._) A charming hotel, madam, is this Golden Lion. So well furnished, so well decorated! My goodness me! it gives me the inclination to set fire to the place. _Luc._ If you’ve any such intentions, sir, pray remember that I’m in the hotel. _Cha._ Very good; only just remember, that, in not setting fire to the hotel, I’m saving your life. (_A pause._) By the way, madam, now I come to think of it, you do not love your husband. _Luc._ Sir! _Cha._ When one is compelled to separate one’s self from a husband that one loves, one is not so light-hearted as you were just now, and— _Luc._ Really, sir! _Cha._ Madam, pardon me, but you do not evidently possess a husband who would make you cry out in the words of Sterne, “Oh, Love, king of gods and men!” Now, if it had been my fate to have crossed your path, I swear that— _Luc._ And I swear to you, sir, that I would never marry a man who was too lazy to do any thing. _Cha._ Madam, you have read my letter. _Luc._ I, sir? oh, dear, no! I can assure you I only looked at it. By the way, would you mind informing me how it is that you came to inhabit this room?