Arnolphe. Drop this ceremony. Well, how do you like this town so far?

Horace. Its inhabitants are numerous, its buildings splendid, and I should think that its amusements are wonderful.

Arnolphe. Everyone has his own pleasures, after his own fashion; but for those whom we christen our gallants, they have in this town just what pleases them, for the women are born flirts. Dark and fair are amiably disposed, and the husbands also are the most kind in the world. It is a pleasure fit for a King; to me it is a mere comedy to see the pranks I do. Perhaps you have already smitten some one. Have you had no adventure yet? Men of your figure can do more than men who have money, and you are cut out to make a cuckold.

Horace. Not to deceive you as to the simple truth, I have had a certain love-passage in these parts, and friendship compels me to tell you of it.

Arnolphe(aside). Good. Here is another queer story to set down in my pocket-book.

Horace. But pray, let these things be secret.

Arnolphe. Oh!

Horace. You know that in these matters a secret divulged destroys our expectations. I will then frankly confess to you that my heart has been smitten in this place by a certain fair maid. My little attentions were at once so successful that I obtained a pleasant introduction to her; not to boast too much, nor to do her an injustice, affairs go very well with me.

Arnolphe (laughing). Ha! ha! And she is…

Horace (pointing to the house of Agnès). A young creature living in yonder house, of which you can see the red walls from this. Simple, of a truth, through the matchless folly of a man who hides her from all the world; but who, amidst the ignorance in which he would enslave her, discloses charms that throw one into raptures, as well as a thoroughly engaging manner, and something indescribably tender, against which no heart is proof. But perhaps you have seen this young star of love, adorned by so many charms. Agnès is her name.

Arnolphe(aside). Oh, I shall burst with rage!

Horace. As for the man, I think his name is De la Zousse, or Souche; I did not concern myself about the name. He is rich, by what they told me, but not one of the wisest of men; they say he is a ridiculous fellow. Do you not know him?

Arnolphe(aside). It is a bitter pill I have to swallow!

Horace. Why, you do not speak a word.

Arnolphe. Oh, yes…I know him.

Horace. He is a fool, is he not?

Arnolphe. Ugh!

Horace. What do you say? Ugh—that means yes? Jealous, I suppose, ridiculously so? Stupid? I see he is just as they told me. To be brief, the lovely Agnes has succeeded in enslaving me. She is a pretty jewel, to tell you honestly; it would be a sin if such a rare beauty were left in the power of this eccentric fellow. For me, all my efforts, all my dearest wishes, are to make her mine in spite of this jealous wretch; and the money which I so freely borrow of you, was only to bring this laudable enterprise to a conclusion.