CAT. I see, indeed, he is an Amilcar.

[Footnote: Amilcar is one of the heroes of the novel _Clelie_, who
wishes to be thought sprightly.]

MAD. Fear nothing, our eyes have no wicked designs, and your heart may
rest in peace, fully assured of their innocence.

CAT. But, pray, Sir, be not inexorable to the easy chair, which, for
this last quarter of an hour, has held out its arms towards you; yield
to its desire of embracing you.

MASC. (_After having combed himself, and, adjusted the rolls of his
stockings_). Well, ladies, and what do you think of Paris?

[Footnote: It was at that time the custom for men of rank to comb their
hair or periwigs in public.]

[Footnote: The rolls (_canons_) were large round pieces of linen, often
adorned with lace or ribbons, and which were fastened below the breeches,
just under the knee.]

MAD. Alas! what can we think of it? It would be the very antipodes of
reason not to confess that Paris is the grand cabinet of marvels, the
centre of good taste, wit, and gallantry.

MASC. As for me, I maintain that, out of Paris, there is no salvation
for the polite world.

CAT. Most assuredly.