Adolphe.  You are always wrong in your talk and right in your actions.  What you really think—­that I don’t know.

Henriette.  Who does know that kind of thing?

Maurice.  Well, if we had to answer for our thoughts, who could then clear himself?

Henriette.  Do you also have evil thoughts?

Maurice.  Certainly; just as I commit the worst kind of cruelties in my dreams.

Henriette.  Oh, when you are dreaming, of course—­Just think of it—–­
No, I am ashamed of telling—­

Maurice.  Go on, go on!

Henriette.  Last night I dreamt that I was coolly dissecting the muscles on Adolphe’s breast—­you see, I am a sculptor—­and he, with his usual kindness, made no resistance, but helped me instead with the worst places, as he knows more anatomy than I.

Maurice.  Was he dead?

Henriette.  No, he was living.

Maurice.  But that’s horrible!  And didn’t it make you suffer?

Henriette.  Not at all, and that astonished me most, for I am rather sensitive to other people’s sufferings.  Isn’t that so, Adolphe?

Adolphe.  That’s right.  Rather abnormally so, in fact, and not the least when animals are concerned.

Maurice.  And I, on the other hand, am rather callous toward the sufferings both of myself and others.

Adolphe.  Now he is not telling the truth about himself.  Or what do you say, Madame Catherine?

Mme. Catherine.  I don’t know of anybody with a softer heart than Monsieur Maurice.  He came near calling in the police because I didn’t give the goldfish fresh water—­those over there on the buffet.  Just look at them:  it is as if they could hear what I am saying.

Maurice.  Yes, here we are making ourselves out as white as angels, and yet we are, taking it all in all, capable of any kind of polite atrocity the moment glory, gold, or women are concerned—­So you are a sculptor, Mademoiselle Henriette?

Henriette.  A bit of one.  Enough to do a bust.  And to do one of you—­which has long been my cherished dream—­I hold myself quite capable.

Maurice.  Go ahead!  That dream at least need not be long in coming true.

Henriette.  But I don’t want to fix your features in my mind until this evening’s success is over.  Not until then will you have become what you should be.

Maurice.  How sure you are of victory!

Henriette.  Yes, it is written on your face that you are going to win this battle, and I think you must feel that yourself.

Maurice.  Why do you think so?

Henriette.  Because I can feel it.  This morning I was ill, you know, and now I am well.

(Adolphe begins to look depressed.)

Maurice. [Embarrassed] Listen, I have a single ticket left—­only one.  I place it at your disposal, Adolphe.