Sylvette.  But I didn’t compare—!

Percinet.  You and I are Juliet and Romeo; I love you to despair, and I shall brave the wrath of Pasquinot-Capulet and Bergamin-Montague!

Sylvette. [Coming a little nearer to the wall] Then we love? 
But how, Monsieur Percinet, has it happened so soon?

Percinet.  Love is born we know not how, because it must be born. 
I often saw you pass my window—­

Sylvette.  I saw you, too!

Percinet.  And our eyes spoke in silence.

Sylvette.  One day I was gathering nuts in the garden by the wall—­

Percinet.  One day I happened to be reading Shakespeare.  See how everything conspired to unite two hearts!

Sylvette.  And a little gust of wind blew my scarf in your direction.

Percinet.  I climbed to the wall to return it—­

Sylvette. [Climbing the wall again] I climbed too!

Percinet.  And since that day, my dear, I have waited at the same hour, here by this wall; and each time my heart beat louder and faster, until I knew by your laugh that you were near!

Sylvette.  Now since we love, we must be married.

Percinet.  I was just thinking about that.

Sylvette. [Solemnly] I, last of the Pasquinots, do solemnly pledge myself to you, last of the Bergamins.

Percinet.  What noble recklessness!

Sylvette.  We shall be sung in future ages!

Percinet.  Two tender children of two hard-hearted fathers!

Sylvette.  But who knows whether the hour is not at hand when our fathers’ hatred may end?

Percinet.  I doubt it.

Sylvette.  I have heard of stranger things.  I can think of half a dozen—­

Percinet.  What, for instance?

Sylvette.  Imagine that the reigning prince comes riding past some day—­I run to him and kneel, and tell him the story of our love and of our fathers’ hatred.  The prince asks to see my father and Bergamin, and they are reconciled.

Percinet.  And your father gives me your hand!

Sylvette.  Yes.  Or else, you languish, the doctor declares you cannot live—­

Percinet.  And asks:  “What ails you?”

Sylvette.  And you answer:  “I must have Sylvette!”

Percinet.  And his pride is then forced to bend.

Sylvette.  Yes.  Or else:  an aged duke, having seen my portrait, falls in love with me, sends a ’squire to sue for my hand, and offers to make me a duchess.

Percinet.  And you say, “No!”

Sylvette.  He is offended, and some dark night when I am in the garden, meditating, he springs forth out of the darkness!  I scream!