Sylvette.  Monsieur—­

Straforel.  Are you afraid now?

Sylvette.  Heavens, what a lesson for me!

Straforel.  Ha, now you look like a little boarding-school miss. 
Tell me, shall we fly together, or shall I go alone?

Sylvette.  Monsieur—­

Straforel.  I understand.  I see you are strong:  we shall go together.  I shall throw you across my saddle.  No sedan-chair—­ they are used only in make-believe abductions!  I return soon! [He goes up-stage.]

Sylvette.  Monsieur, let me tell you—­

Straforel.  I must get my horse and my mantle!

Sylvette. [Deeply distressed] Monsieur!!

Straforel. [With a sweeping gesture] We shall travel from land to land.  My dream at last.  I shall return and take you away, never to return!

Sylvette. [Gasping] Never to return!

Straforel.  You shall live by the side of your adored one, by the side of him who loved you before he set eyes on you. [As he is about to leave, she falls onto the bench, and he says aside] It’s now time for you, Percinet! [He goes out.]

Sylvette. [Opening her eyes after a moment] Monsieur le marquis—­ No, not across the saddle, please.  I couldn’t do that!  Please, please let me stay home.  I am a little boarding-school miss!  Why—­he’s gone!  Marquis!  Heavens, what an awful dream! [Another pause, then she rises.] Romance?  Was it not romance that you craved not so long ago?  It has come, and are you afraid?  Love, stars, a cottage.  Yes, I did want it—­but only a little like seasoning in a stew!  This is too much—­I couldn’t stand it. [The sun is setting.  Sylvette takes up her scarf, which she had left on the bench, and puts it over her head.] Who knows whether—?

[Percinet appears.  He is in rags, and his arm is in a sling.  He looks ill, and can scarcely walk.]

Percinet. [Not seeing Sylvette] I have had nothing to eat since yesterday—­I can hardly walk.  I’m not proud now!  I want no more adventures. [He sits down on the wall.  His hat falls from his eyes, and reveals his identity.  Sylvette sees him.]

Sylvette.  You?! [He rises, and stands looking at her.] What has happened to you?  Can it be—?

Percinet. [Piteously] It can!

Sylvette. [Wringing her hands] Heavens!

Percinet.  I resemble somewhat the prodigal son, do I not? [He totters.]

Sylvette.  You can’t stand up!

Percinet.  I am so tired.

Sylvette. [Looking at his arm, with a cry] Wounded!

Percinet.  Can you pity the ungrateful?

Sylvette. [Severely] Only fathers kill fatted calves.  Still, that wounded arm?