to see how she’ll look at me. This way, please, Madame Traitress.
Harlequin (off): Don’t be afraid, Columbine! Go in fearlessly. I’ve persuaded him, and, word of honour, he’s consented.
Columbine (enters): Consented?! Here’s a fine thing! Consented! What, you little beast, that’s all you think of your wife! You don’t care if she betrays you? You don’t care? Answer! (Beats Pierrot.)
Pierrot (agonised): But listen, Columbine.
Columbine: What? I must listen to you? Listen to the worst little beast of a husband of all little beasts of husbands?
Pierrot: But, Columbine.
Columbine: Blockhead!
Pierrot: You don’t let me utter a word.
Columbine (beats him): You’ve got no excuse! And I, poor thing, married a little beast like you! Gave you all the best there was in me! And he can’t even stand up for my conjugal honour! Take that, and that, and that, you good-for-nothing!
Pierrot: But that’s too much! Harlequin, protect me.
