when they go and choose such addle-pates! And when…But here he is…I must dissemble, and find out how he has been mortified.

Scene IV.—Horace, Arnolphe.

Horace. I am come from your house. Fate seems resolved that I shall never meet you there. But I shall go so often that some time or other…

Arnolphe. Bah, for goodness’ sake, do not let us begin these idle compliments. Nothing vexes me like ceremony; and, if I could have my way, it should be abolished. It is a wretched custom, and most people foolishly waste two-thirds of their time on it. Let us put on our hats, without more ado. (Puts on his hat.) Well, how about your love affair? May I know, Mr. Horace, how it goes? I was diverted for a while by some business that came into my head; but since then I have been thinking of it. I admire the rapidity of your commencement, and am interested in the issue.

Horace. Indeed, since I confided in you, my love has been unfortunate.

Arnolphe. Ay! How so?

Horace. Cruel fate has brought her governor back from the country.

Arnolphe. What bad luck!

Horace. Moreover, to my great sorrow, he has discovered what has passed in private between us.

Arnolphe. How the deuce could he discover this affair so soon?

Horace. I do not know; but it certainly is so. I meant, at the usual hour, to pay a short visit to my young charmer, when, with altered voice and looks, her two servants barred my entrance, and somewhat rudely shut the door in my face, saying “Begone, you bring us into trouble!’’

Arnolphe. The door in your face!

Horace. In my face.

Arnolphe. That was rather hard.

Horace. I wished to speak to them through the door; but to all I said their only answer was, “You shan’t come in; master has forbidden it.’’

Arnolphe. Did they not open the door then?

Horace. No. And Agnès from the window made me more certain as to her master’s return, by bidding me begone in a very angry tone, and flinging a stone at me into the bargain.

Arnolphe. What, a stone?

Horace. Not a small one either; that was how she rewarded my visit with her own hands.

Arnolphe. The devil! These are no trifles. Your affair seems to me in a bad way.

Horace. True, I am in a quandary through this unlucky return.

Arnolphe. Really I am sorry for you; I declare I am.

Horace. This fellow mars all.