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?
PERCINET. Oh, I assure you it's not serious.
SYLVETTE. But what have you been doing, Monsieur Vagabond, all
this while?
PERCINET. Nothing very creditable, Sylvette. [He coughs.]
SYLVETTE. You are coughing?
PERCINET. Walking the damp roads at night.
SYLVETTE. What strange clothes you have!
PERCINET. Mine were stolen, and the thieves left me these.
SYLVETTE. [Ironically] How many fortunes did you find?
PERCINET. Sylvette, please say nothing about that.
SYLVETTE. You must have scaled many a balcony?
PERCINET. [Aside] I nearly broke my neck once!
SYLVETTE. Guitar in hand! And what nocturnes and serenades you
must have sung!
PERCINET. Which earned for me more than one bucket of water!
SYLVETTE.
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