MARCEL. Am I not that friend?

FRANcOISE. You are the man I love. Should I consult with you, where your happiness is concerned?

MARCEL. Too deep for me! [_Yawning._] Oh, I'm tired!

FRANcOISE. Did you come in late last night?

MARCEL. Three o'clock.

FRANcOISE. You were very quiet, you naughty man!

MARCEL. Were you jealous?

FRANcOISE. The idea! I am morally certain that you love no one except your wife.

MARCEL [_sadly_]. It's true, I love no one except my wife.

FRANcOISE [_chaffing him in turn_]. Poor Marcel!

MARCEL. I was bored to death at that supper; I can't imagine why.--They all tell me I'm getting stout.

FRANcOISE. That's no reason why you shouldn't please.

MARCEL. G.o.d is very unjust.

FRANcOISE. So they say!

MARCEL [_stretching out on a sofa_]. Excuse my appearance, won't you, Francoise? [_Making himself comfortable._] I can't keep my eyes open any longer nowadays. The days of my youth--Why, I was--[_He stops._]

FRANcOISE. You were just the right age for marriage.

MARCEL [_as if to banish the idea_]. Oh! [_A pause._] I'm sure you will get along well with Guerin. Yours are kindred spirits--you're alike--not in looks, however.

FRANcOISE. Morally, you mean?

MARCEL. Yes, The comparison flatters him.

FRANcOISE. He's like this, then; sentimental, a good friend, and a man of honor. Yes, I think I shall get along nicely with him.

MARCEL. What a sympathetic nature you have! You've never seen him, and you know him already.

FRANcOISE. How long has he been married?

MARCEL. He was born married!

FRANcOISE. Tell me.

MARCEL. Ten years, I think.

FRANcOISE. He's happy.

MARCEL. Very.

FRANcOISE. What sort of woman is she?

MARCEL. Lively.

FRANcOISE. Though virtuous?

MARCEL. So they say.

FRANcOISE. Then Madame Guerin and the handsome Martel--eh?

MARCEL. A friend's wife?

FRANcOISE. It's very tempting--[_Marcel seems to take this with ill-humor; he is about to put on his hat._] Are you going out?

MARCEL. I lunch at the club.

FRANcOISE. Very well.

MARCEL. I'm--a little nervous; I need a breath of air.

FRANcOISE. Paris air!

MARCEL. Precisely.

FRANcOISE. And your work?

MARCEL. I'm not in the mood.

FRANcOISE. It's only ten days before the Salon: you'll never be ready.

MARCEL. What chance have I, with my talent?

FRANcOISE. You have a great deal of talent--it's recognized everywhere.

MARCEL. I did have.

[_A pause._]

FRANcOISE. Will you be home for dinner?

MARCEL [_tenderly_]. Of course! And don't allow any black suspicion to get the better of you: I'm not lunching with anybody!

FRANcOISE. I suspect you!

MARCEL [_gratefully_]. 'Til later, then! [_A pause. Frankly._] Of course, I don't always go where I tell you I'm going. Why should I worry you? But if you think I--do what I ought not to do, you are mistaken.

I'm no longer a bachelor, you know.