Читать книгу The Imaginary Invalid - Жан-Батист Мольер, Жан-Батист Поклен Мольер, Мольер (Жан-Батист Поклен) - Страница 10

Bel. Now, now; what is it again?

Arg. (throwing himself in his chair). Ah! I can hold out no longer.

Bel. But why do you fly into such a passion? she thought she was doing right.

Arg. You don't know, darling, the wickedness of that villainous baggage. She has altogether upset me, and I shall want more than eight different mixtures and twelve injections to remedy the evil.

Bel. Come, come, my dearie, compose yourself a little.

Arg. Lovey, you are my only consolation.

Bel. Poor little pet!

Arg. To repay you for all the love you have for me, my darling, I will, as I told you, make my will.

Bel. Ah, my soul! do not let us speak of that, I beseech you. I cannot bear to think of it, and the very word "will" makes me die of grief.

Arg. I had asked you to speak to our notary about it.

Bel. There he is, close at hand; I have brought him with me.

Arg. Make him come in then, my life!

Bel. Alas! my darling, when a woman loves her husband so much, she finds it almost impossible to think of these things.