Percinet.  And I lose not a second in springing over the wall, dagger in hand.  I fight like a tiger, I—­

Sylvette.  You lay low three or four men.  Then my father rushes in and takes me in his arms.  You tell him who you are.  His heart softens, he gives me to my savior.  Your father consents, for he is proud of your bravery.

Percinet.  Then we live together for years, happy and content!

Sylvette.  This is not at all impossible, is it?

Percinet.  Someone’s coming!

Sylvette. [Forgetting herself] Kiss me!

Percinet. [Kissing her] This evening, at eight, then?  As usual?  You will come?

Sylvette. [Disappearing behind the wall] Your father! [Percinet jumps quickly from the wall.]

[Enter Bergamin.]

Bergamin.  Ah, ha, I find you here again, dreaming in this corner of the park!

Percinet.  Father, I love this old corner!  I adore this bench over which the vines of the wall have so gracefully draped themselves.  See, what graceful arabesques these festoons make!  The air is purer here.

Bergamin.  By the side of this wall?

Percinet.  I love it!

Bergamin.  I see nothing lovable about it!

Sylvette. [Aside] He can’t see why!

Percinet.  But it is charming, all covered with ivy and creeper.  See here, what honeysuckle!  This hundred-year-old wall, with its clinging vines, its constellations of flowers, looking through the crannies, kissed by the summer sun, makes the bench a throne fit for kings!

Bergamin.  Nonsense, you hare-brained youth!  Do you mean to tell me that this wall has eyes?

Percinet.  Ah, what eyes! [Turns toward the wall.] Of soft azure, yet dazzlingly blue; let but a tear come to dim your brightness, or a single kiss—­

Bergamin.  But the wall hasn’t eyes, you idiot!

Percinet.  See this vine, though! [He plucks part of the vine from the wall and graciously presents it to his father.]

Sylvette. [Aside] How clever!

Bergamin.  How stupid!  But I know now what has turned your silly head:  you come here to read! [Sylvette starts as she hears this.  Percinet also shows signs of fear as his father pulls the book from the youth’s pocket.] Plays! [He drops the book in horror.] And verse!  Verse!  That’s what’s turned your head.  Now I see why you talk about eyes and honeysuckle.  I tell you, to be useful, a wall doesn’t have to be beautiful.  I am going to have all this green stuff taken away, and the bricks re-laid and the holes stopped up.  I want a white wall and a high one to keep the neighbors from looking into our park.  I want no vines and honeysuckles.  Along the top I’ll sprinkle broken glass—­