My dear, we should call for chairs.
MAD. Almanzor!
ALM. Madam.
MAD. Convey to us hither, instantly, the conveniences of conversation.
MASC. But am I safe here? (_Exit Almanzor_.)
CAT. What is it you fear?
MASC. Some larceny of my heart; some massacre of liberty. I behold here
a pair of eyes that seem to be very naughty boys, that insult liberty,
and use a heart most barbarously. Why the deuce do they put themselves
on their guard, in order to kill any one who comes near them? Upon my
word! I mistrust them; I shall either scamper away, or expect very good
security that they do me no mischief.
MAD. My dear, what a charming facetiousness he has!
CAT. I see, indeed, he is an Amilcar.
[Footnote: Amilcar is one of the heroes of the novel _Clelie_, who
wishes to be thought sprightly.]
MAD. Fear nothing, our eyes have no wicked designs, and your heart may
rest in peace, fully assured of their innocence.
CAT. But, pray, Sir, be not inexorable to the easy chair, which, for
this last quarter of an hour, has held out its arms towards you; yield
to its desire of embracing you.
MASC. (_After having combed himself, and, adjusted the rolls of his
stockings_). Well, ladies, and what do you think of Paris?
[Footnote: It was at that time the custom for men of rank to comb their
hair or periwigs in public.
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