RENE. Yes, come. [_To Madame Gueret_] You won't forget the trumpets? MADAME GUERET. No, no. All the same, you'd better help me. RENE. I will, I will. _He goes out with Madame Nerisse._ FELIAT. You know, if she wants one, she'll find a husband at Evreux. MADAME GUERET. Without a penny! FELIAT. Without a penny! She made a sensation at the ball at the sous-prefecture. She's extremely pretty. MADAME GUERET. She's young. FELIAT. Monsieur Gambard sounded me about her. MADAME GUERET. Monsieur Gambard! The Monsieur Gambard who has the house with the big garden? FELIAT. Yes. MADAME GUERET. But he's very rich. FELIAT. He's forty-nine. MADAME GUERET. She'll have to take what she can get now. FELIAT. And I think that Monsieur Beaudoin---- GUERET. But he's almost a cripple! MADAME GUERET. She wouldn't do so well in Paris. GUERET. She wouldn't look at either of them. FELIAT. We must try and make her see reason. _Rene enters busily. Lucienne follows him. Feliat is standing across the guichet through which Barberine is to speak. Rene pulls him away without ceremony._ RENE. Excuse me, Uncle; don't stand there before the little window. FELIAT. Beg pardon. I didn't know. RENE. I haven't a moment. FELIAT. I've never seen you so busy. At your office they say you're a lazy dog. MADAME GUERET. Probably Rene has more taste for the stage than for business. RENE [_laughing_] Rather! [_To Lucienne_] Now, it's time. Come. Lift it. Not yet! There! _Now!_ LUCIENNE [_speaking through the guichet_] "If you want food and drink, you must do like those old women you despise--you must spin." RENE. Capital! LUCIENNE [_to Feliat_] Please forgive me, Monsieur, I've not had time to speak to you. FELIAT. Why, it's Mademoiselle Lucienne, Therese's friend, who came and stayed in the holidays! Fancy my not recognizing you! LUCIENNE. It's my dress. I _do_ like playing this part. I have to say that lovely bit--you know--the bit that describes the day of the ideal wife. [_She recites, sentimentally_] "I rise and go to prayers, to the farmyard, to the kitchen. I prepare your meal; I go with you to church; I read a page or two; I sew a while; and then I fall asleep happy upon your breast." FELIAT. That's good, oh, that's very good! _Barberine_--now, who wrote that? LUCIENNE. Alfred de Musset. FELIAT. Ah, yes; to be sure, Alfred de Musset. I read him when I was young. You often find his works lying about in pretty bindings. RENE. Uncle, Uncle; I beg your pardon, but don't speak so loud. We can hardly hear what they're saying on the stage. FELIAT [_very politely_] Sorry, I'm sure. RENE [_to Lucienne_] You. _Now._ LUCIENNE [_speaking through the guichet_] "My lord, these cries are useless. It grows late. If you wish to sup--you must spin." [_turning to the others_] There! Now I must go over the rest with Ulric. _She runs out, with a little wave of adieu to Feliat._ RENE [_to Madame Gueret_] The trumpets, Madame. Don't forget.