STRANGER. But if any man who loves you is ridiculous, how can you
respond to his love?

WOMAN. We don't! We submit to it, and search for another man who
doesn't love us.

STRANGER. But if he, in turn, begins to love you, do you look for a
third?

WOMAN. Perhaps it's like that.

STRANGER. Very strange. (There is a silence.) I remember you were
always dreaming of someone you called your Toreador, which I
translated by 'horse butcher.' You eventually got him, but he gave
you no children, and no bread; only beatings! A toreador's always
fighting. (Silence.) Once I let myself be tempted into trying to
compete with the toreador. I started to bicycle and fence and do
other things of the kind. But you only began to detest me for it.
That means that the husband mayn't do what the lover may. Later you
had a passion for page boys. One of them used to sit on the
Brussels carpet and read you bad verses. ... My good ones were of
no use to you. Did you get your page boy?

WOMAN. Yes. But his verses weren't bad, really.

STRANGER. Oh yes, they were, my dear. I know him! He stole my
rhythms and set them for the barrel organ.

WOMAN (rising and going to the door.) You should be ashamed of
yourself.