THE YOUNG MAN (to his father):
What piece do they give us?

THE BURGHER:
'Clorise.'

THE YOUNG MAN:
Who may the author be?

THE BURGHER:
Master Balthazar Baro. It is a play!. . .

(He goes arm-in-arm with his son.)

THE PICKPOCKET (to his pupils):
Have a care, above all, of the lace knee-ruffles--cut them off!

A SPECTATOR (to another, showing him a corner in the gallery):
I was up there, the first night of the 'Cid.'

THE PICKPOCKET (making with his fingers the gesture of filching):
Thus for watches--

THE BURGHER (coming down again with his son):
Ah! You shall presently see some renowned actors. . .

THE PICKPOCKET (making the gestures of one who pulls something stealthily,
with little jerks):
Thus for handkerchiefs--