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M. SIMON.
How is that?
VICTOIRE.
I had I do not know how many little trees thrown out.
M. SIMON.
How? My plan of linden trees?
VICTOIRE.
Goodness, they were as thick as my fan.
Air: I served it, I would serve it.
Your Coachman is brilliant,
Excellent:
In a charming vegetable garden
He has made an avenue
Across, across, all across the lettuce.
M. SIMON.
Ah! Heaven! I am going to see... He wants to leave.
THE LORD.
Ladies, (listen, listen Master Simon, Master Simon?) Ladies, will you allow me the honor, the joy, the supreme joy of presenting the dear Simon to you.
M. SIMON.
Ladies....
VICTOIRE.
Ah! Ah! Ah! Simon; so his wife is called Simonne?
Madame SIMON, aside.
Simonne!
ROSALIE.
She has ideas....
A HUNTING VALET.
My Lord, here are the horses.
VICTOIRE.
My dear Count, this is no tale that I am telling you; but I am counting....
THE LORD.
What a lot of tales.
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