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HIS WIFE.
Hey, we had great need of My Lord!
Mr. SIMON.
Need! How, a cursed hare comes every morning.... Ah! there is the armchair.
A man brings a barber's chair; one of those leather chairs whose back reclines on a rack.
HIS WIFE.
Hey! why then this chair?
Mr. SIMON.
To sit, to sit. Put it, put it there, a little more here, there, there, there, that is good.
He sits down to test if the chair is well placed.
HIS WIFE.
Are you going to judge?
Mr. SIMON.
How simple women are! To the Boy. Listen, listen; tell your master to bring my wig.
HIS WIFE.
Hey, but still, why this chair?
Mr. SIMON.
Why! Will My Lord sit on a chair like a peasant original: "manant"? I must think of everything.
HIS WIFE.
It would be better if you thought of nothing.
Mr. SIMON.
Like you. There you are with your arms crossed; have you had the wine drawn? Is everything ready? Is your daughter dressed? Your....
HIS WIFE.
Yes yes, yes yes. Hey, why all this fuss?
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