Eu. He is out. When he returns, he will find his house covered with flowers. Throws the rest of the flowers into the cabin.
Or. What do I see? Is it not the nymph, Maquilla, the beautiful nymph that I adore? . . . . Alone! Let us reveal my presence with the tune she loves so much. Plays a passionate tune.
Eu. My husband!
Or. My wife! Blockhead! I must scold, else she will scold before me. Ah! ah! I catch you, madam.
Eu. Catch me! how?
Or. How? To whom were you throwing those flowers, if you please?
Eu. Flowers? . . . . to the winds! And you, my tender friend, to whom were you throwing the passionate strains of your fiddle?
Or. To the moon.
Eu. All right. Do you know what I conclude from all this, my darling? That, if I have my shepherd, you have your shepherdess. Well, I leave her to you; leave me my shepherd.
Or. Madame, it is very bad taste on your part.
Eu. Why, please?
Or. Because, because . . . . you make me blush!
Eu. Well, it is high time we should come to an understanding, and I must give you a piece of my mind. Know then that I detest you; that I thought I was wedding an artist, and I have wedded the greatest bore in creation. You think that you are an eagle, because you have invented hexameters; but in my eyes it is your greatest crime. Do you believe that I will pass my young days listening to your classical dreams, and fiddling away on that tin pan of yours?
Or. My violin. Do not touch that chord, Madame.
Eu. Your violin is a bore, like your verses. Go and charm with them third class shepherdesses, whom you love. I am the daughter of a nymph, and a demi-god. I need liberty and fancy—to-day I love that shepherd—he loves me. Nothing can sever Aristee and me.