Pierrot: Nothing good. (It grows dark.)
Harlequin: The old ape imagined I don’t feel death coming. As if a man, sleeping longer than he revels, could still have doubts about the approach of death. But what’s the time? (The clock shows eight.) Hasn’t the clock stopped? It always went in step with me, but now
Pierrot: You’re too nervous.
Harlequin: We can’t all be like you.
Pierrot: What do you mean?
Harlequin: You’ll soon see. Help me to lay the table for supper.
Pierrot (going to the clipboard): With great pleasure.
Harlequin: We must lay for three.
Pierrot: Three?
Harlequin: Yes.
Pierrot: Whom’s the third for?
Harlequin: For Death.
Pierrot: She’ll sit down with us?
Harlequin: If you’re not afraid of her.
Pierrot: Two glasses are enough; I won’t have supper with you.
Harlequin: Come, come! I was joking. Death will sup on me. That’s sufficient for her. But, all the same, lay for three. (Lights the lamp.)
