Fourchambault—­You are still harping on that?  But, my dear, you might as well bury me alive!  Already I’m a mere cipher in my family.

Madame Fourchambault—­You do not choose your time well to pose as a victim, when like a tyrant you are refusing me a mere trifle.

Fourchambault—­I refuse you nothing.  I merely explain my position.  Now do as you like.  It is useless to expostulate.

Madame Fourchambault—­At last!  But you have wounded me to the heart, Adrien, and just when I had a surprise for you—­

Fourchambault—­What is your surprise? [Aside:  It makes me tremble.]

Madame Fourchambault—­Thanks to me, the Fourchambaults are going to triumph over the Duhamels.

Fourchambault—­How?

Madame Fourchambault—­Madame Duhamel has been determined this long time to marry her daughter to the son of the prefect.

Fourchambault—­I knew it.  What about it?

Madame Fourchambault—­While she was making a goose of herself so publicly, I was quietly negotiating, and Baron Rastiboulois is coming to ask our daughter’s hand.

Fourchambault—­That will never do!  I’m planning quite a different match for her.

Madame Fourchambault—­You?  I should like to know—­

Fourchambault—­He’s a fine fellow of our own set, who loves Blanche, and whom she loves if I’m not mistaken.

Madame Fourchambault—­You are entirely mistaken.  You mean Victor Chauvet, Monsieur Bernard’s clerk?

Fourchambault—­His right arm, rather.  His alter ego.

Madame Fourchambault—­Blanche did think of him at one time.  But her fancy was just a morning mist, which I easily dispelled.  She has forgotten all about him, and I advise you to follow her example.

Fourchambault—­What fault can you find with this young man?

Madame Fourchambault—­Nothing and everything.  Even his name is absurd.  I never would have consented to be called Madame Chauvet, and Blanche is as proud as I was.  But that is only a detail; the truth is, I won’t have her marry a clerk.

Fourchambault—­You won’t have!  You won’t have!  But there are two of us.

Madame Fourchambault—­Are you going to portion Blanche?

Fourchambault—­I?  No.

Madame Fourchambault—­Then you see there are not two of us.  As I am going to portion her, it is my privilege to choose my son-in-law.

Fourchambault—­And mine to refuse him.  I tell you I won’t have your little baron at any price.

Madame Fourchambault—­Now it is your turn.  What fault can you find with him, except his title?

Fourchambault—­He’s fast, a gambler, worn out by dissipation.

Madame Fourchambault—­Blanche likes him just as he is.