I don't know--

PASQUINOT. I invite you!

BERGAMIN. To tell the truth, I prefer _besigue_--

PASQUINOT. Then come at once.

BERGAMIN. [Following PASQUINOT, who goes out] You owe me ten
sous from the last time. [Turning round] Work hard, mason!

The MASON. Tra la la la la!

PASQUINOT. Beautiful voice! [They disappear.]

[When they are gone, the MASON turns round, and takes off his hat:
he is STRAFOREL.]

STRAFOREL. Now for the work of reconstruction! [He sits down on
the row or two of bricks.] The young man is still off on his quest
for adventure and romance. Life must be giving him a splendid bath
of disillusion. I can see him as he returns, his tail between his
legs. Now I am working on Sylvette--she, too, will soon be cured.
[He takes a letter from his pocket and puts it in the hollow of a
tree-trunk. SYLVETTE appears at the back.] It's she! Now to work!

SYLVETTE. [Looking anxiously about] Not a soul. [She lays her
muslin scarf on the bench to the left.] Will the letter be there
to-day as usual? [She goes toward the tree.] Every day some
gallant has left one for me. [She thrusts her hand into the
hollow.] Ah, here is my mail! [She takes the letter, opens it and
reads.] "Sylvette, heart of marble, this is the last letter you
will find in this tree. Why have you not answered me?" Ah, what
style! "The love that gnaws at my vitals!" Monsieur Percinet has
gone forth into the great world, and he is right. I shall do as
he has done. How can I possibly stay here and die of ennui? Now
let him come, I am ready to fly with him! I almost love him already!

STRAFOREL. [Rising from his work, and in a voice of thunder]
Here am I!

SYLVETTE. [Screaming] Help! Percinet! Man, not another step!

STRAFOREL. [Gallantly] Why this hostile attitude? I am the man
whose letter you love, I am he whose words have had the honor of
pleasing you, and upon whose love you just called. Come, fly with
me!

SYLVETTE. [Not knowing what to do] Man!

STRAFOREL. You think I am a mason? Charming! Know, then, that
I am the Marquis D'Astafiorquercita. My heart is languishing for
you, I seek to color my drab existence with a few pigments from
your own. I must travel--but with you. That is why I have
penetrated into your garden, disguised as a mason! [He throws off
his workman's clothes and hat, and appears in a dazzling costume.
His wig is powdered and his moustache bristles.]

SYLVETT