NANETTE.

Bah!

[_Pointing to pail_.]

Take that rubbish to the cellar.


POTIN.

[_Crosses, lifts pail, and looks into it_.]

Ashes!--Heigho! Every fire has its ashes.


NANETTE.

Aye--and the fire that warms a man's home may burn his house
down!--Mark you that, Citizen.


POTIN.

Oh, I see! You mean a wife, who should be a comfort, often proves a
curse.


NANETTE.