All language subtitles for Elle Boit Pas, Elle Fume Pas, Elle Drague Pas, Mais. Elle Cause. (1970)

SHE DOESN'T DRINK

SHE DOESN'T SMOKE

SHE DOESN'T FLIRT

BUT SHE TALKS

Mussels, clams,
and scallops.

Straight from Granville, ladies.

From the fisherman to you.

We have king crabs,

herring and mackerel.

Good day.

It's freezing.

-How are you?
-Fine. And you?

I'm good. On the go.

Marcel!

A glass of white!

Fine.
Don't want to disturb you.

You're reading!

I'm learning Spanish.

Comes in handy
as a cleaning lady?

In my job,
no Spanish, no work.

Here, "El negro de mi
padrastro azotaron."

-What does that mean?
-You'd like to know.

"My crook of a father-in-law
was whipped."

It's easy.
You speak Spanish?

Some English.

-That's no use to you.
-And I recite.

Recite a little poem, then.

"Why did they
climb to the palace?

"The entire city is steeped
in incense and offerings.

"Deluged with plaintive cries,
sobbing and laments.

"I love its tearful foliage.

"Its pallor is dear to me.

"As is its shadow..."

I'll live in Monte-Carlo.
I'll only speak English.

I'll look distinguished.

People will say,
"It's Mrs. Germaine!"

Meanwhile, I wake up at 6.

I walk through rubbish
before crossing the bridge.

At the end of the bridges
is America.

They call it "Front de Seine."

Working at people's homes
would be OK

if the idiots didn't live
so far from one another.

I've crossed the Levallois
bridge 1000 times, 2000 times.

The Suresnes
and Asnières bridges too.

They're surprised when I say
my legs hurt.

I have a diverse clientele.

From the future
First Lady of France,

to a replacement cashier at
the Prévoyance de Crédit.

What tires me the most
about customers

is having to
listen to them.

They're annoying
from the time they wake up.

With their troubles,
if they slept well or not,

if they screwed well or not,
their insomnia.

The cost of living,
politics, the weather.

You just pretend
you're listening.

They're surprised when I say
I have a headache.

Mr. Phalempin, my 3rd client,
looks like a Bic pen.

The small ad tricked me. The
word "teacher" fooled me.

I wanted to see
what he looked like.

He worked
on the outskirts,

where the buildings haven't
displaced the thorns.

Way at the end of Céline Ave.
In the middle of Machevert.

He was a nice lunatic
who thought that men

wouldn't become bastards if they
were educated at a young age.

-You teach how many?
-About 50.

Some are nastier than others.

This is a tough neighborhood.

To quiet them down, I want
to take them to Baie de Somme.

To see the ducks fly.
Fresh air can do some good.

If you continue, you'll get it!

You don't want me to cook
for your 50 wolverines?

No, just clean the cafeteria.
Maybe do some laundry.

-You have a vacuum cleaner?
-No.

-A washing machine?
-No.

Damn.

Do that to Madam again
and you'll get it!

What a rascal!

I need to ask for references...

Well, I work 2 hours a day
for Miss Marquette.

You know, the TV star,
the friend of broken hearts?

The churches speak well of her.

And 2 hours a day
for Mr. Liéthard, a banker.

You don't have much free time?

I'm asking because of
my trip to Baie de Somme.

-I was hoping that maybe...
-No way!

I don't like trips.

Once, I went to Barbizon
for someone.

No fond memories there.

But, I'd like to visit
Monte-Carlo.

The weather's always nice there.
No need for winter clothing.

After winning at the casino,

I'll descend
the marble staircase.

Miss Marquette has elevators.

Lucky for me.
She lives on the 12th floor.

It's not Monte-Carlo, but it's
no slum. She had it good.

Way up there,
you could see the parks

Vincennes, Saint-Cloud.

When it's nice,
you can even see Saint-Germain.

I can sometimes see
barges from the balcony.

As Mr. de La Motte Brébière
says, "It's magical."

A brilliant student, the Count.
Always first in school.

Aggregated at 22,
a chargé d'affaires at 26,

an MP at 35,
and a minister at 38.

He'll end up in Matignon.

People who knew him
all agreed.

Goes to show that a woman
with a nice butt has an asset.

We now hear from
our dear Francine,

whose program,
"À coeur ouvert,"

will help you deal with
your relationship problems.

Hello, my dear friends.

We're here once again

to talk about an issue that is
a real concern for youths.

Today's guest is a young woman.
Her name is...

-Martine?
-No, Monique.

Monique,
can I ask how old you are?

Of course, Francine.
I'll be 16 in 3 months.

Tell us what's going on exactly?

My parents are real idiots.

I'm sure they're nice people.

Real idiots!

Why do you say that?

I'm having a baby.

But that's wonderful.

You're having a baby.
You can't break the news.

-They don't know?
-I'm leaving it for next month.

You'd have to be blind...

They won't like your boyfriend?

He's not so young, Maurice.
He's 54 years old.

There it is.

You're scared your parents will
find this Mr. Maurice too old.

They don't give a damn about
his age. They want to meet him.

Why don't you introduce him?

He has 4 months of prison left!

That doesn't help matters.

Did our unfortunate prisoner
do something serious?

No! He lost control
in front of a school for girls.

It's his thing. He waits for
them after school.

It's how I met him.

OK...

My dear Monique,
this is all very clear.

First, you need to tell
Mom and Dad everything.

I know, it's difficult.

You have to agree,
they've accepted many things.

With a bit of
attention and kindness,

you will need

to rid your husband
from his small obsessions.

Damn!

I am certain that

when school is out,
Maurice will return home

instead of fooling around.

I'm sure that deep down
he's a nice person.

Shit!

Now, my dear Monique,

like all our broken hearted,
you can choose a record.

Have you chosen?

Yes. "Quel mal y a-t-il à ça?"
by Françoise Hardy.

I was desperate,
you gave me back my courage.

Now I know now everything
will work out.

-Who is it?
-Open up!

Take your time!

I must not have heard you...

Remove the chain
and open the door.

Cleaning ladies who
open the door for anyone...

14 were murdered, just in Paris.

Mr. and Mrs. Mareuil,
Jeanne Mareuil.

Madam's friend?

Come in, then.

-Francine isn't here?
-She just left.

-Is she coming back?
-No, she was on TV.

In 18 months, this is
the first time I missed her.

What was it about today?

A schoolgirl pregnant
for a sex maniac.

Ask them to bring up
my 2 suitcases?

OK.

-It's Georges?
-Yes.

-What's the plan?
-Late in the planning stage.

Can you bring them up?

12th!

I'm absolutely shocked.

I was just saying
at council,

how I admired
his original ideas,

the clarity
of his judgment,

his strong integrity
and his love for others.

The deceased president was
one of the most

distinguished figures
of the Republic.

How sad!

As I was just saying to Chaban,

What a man,
what a soldier, what a figure!

What an example!

What a poet, what a mind,
what a Frenchman!

How unfortunate!

-What a father!
-What a son!

"France mourns today,

"not only for
the illustrious poet..."

Illustrious? You're joking.

The army thought he was a poet.

The poets thought
he was a soldier.

Nobel Prizes are awarded
on such misunderstandings.

-You love me?
-I told you so.

-Kiss me.
-"Indeed..."

There you go.

-"His death had a great..."
-What will you say when I die?

-Nothing.
-Great sorrow is often silent..

You have nice words
to describe any deadbeat.

And for me, no flowers, no
wreaths. Just a lowly hearse.

I'm not asking for
a state funeral...

So, then?

Let's hear you!

"Ladies and gentlemen,
I can't find the words

"to evoke the memory
of an angel.

"Afflicted hearts,

"sorrowful souls,

"remain silent

"as the radio broadcasts
to the world

"this terrible news.

"Francine is dead.

"Francine is gone."

It's so beautiful.

I'll depict
a kind-hearted woman.

I'll relate anecdotes
to describe the Parisian icon.

Then I'll stare
at the rainy sky.

And I'll emit
a cry of love.

But a muffled cry.

From deep inside.

"To my beloved wife."

-Let's hope it rains.
-What did you say?

What did you say before?
"To my beloved wife."

Well, yes.

You'll marry me?

Yes, I'll marry you.

I hesitated
because of your celebrity.

The opposition press
would say I'm a show-off.

If I don't marry you,
they'll say I'm gay.

I want you to be countess.

What's the matter, my love?

I'm so happy.

I want life to end.

I can die now.

You can. Your speech is ready.

I'm back again on the bridge.

My morning cleaning.
The banker lives past the river.

But on the hills.

It reminds him of Savoie.
And it's good for his asthma.

Breakfast.

My nice Phosphatine.

That's no fun for anyone.

It is for me.

Well, I'm going to do
the shopping. What should I get?

You've nothing underneath,
right?

How about tapioca?
A cassoulet?

-And a small dessert.
-One day, I'll ravish you.

On the counter.

I think about it on the bus.

In the metro, everywhere.
There's a brothel in his head.

I feel his gaze.
The things he must be imagining.

Whistle while you work...

Mr. Liéthard?

Straight ahead.

After the peristyle.
Go past the reception desk.

His apartment is on the right.

What now?

Liéthard.

Mr. Gruson, my word!

You here...

Mr. Gruson in person.

At my home.

This twit is the head cashier
at the Prévoyance de Crédit.

-Liéthard.
-Mr. Principal.

The next time you ask
for a promotion,

don't appeal
to my sense of fairness

but rather,
to my sense of kindness.

Don't make me repeat it.

He's been on my case
for 15 years.

He's jealous of my shirts.

Excuse me?

I haven't had my shower.
The cleaning isn't done.

Please excuse the mess.

I'm referring to
real chaos, Liéthard.

This isn't much,

compared to the huge
and fundamental chaos

of your existence.

What refinement, what style,
Mr. Principal.

Du Bossuet in the morning!

Are you being cheeky?

Mr. Principal...

You chose a really bad time.

Unless you're the type

that steps up to the guillotine
while singing.

Just an image.

Gripping.

Gripping.

Would you like some biscuits?

Between you and me, Liéthard.

What terrible

and shameful vice
are you mixed up in,

embezzling our clients' money?

Have some toast.

How long have you been
dipping into the till?

I spent the night
doing and redoing the totals.

Thank you.

There's a deficit.

20,000 francs.

Two million old francs
in your accounts.

Liéthard...

Give me back this money.

We'll say it was
temporary madness.

A sentimental one.

And if I refuse?

I'll notify the Chairman
and CEO, Mr. Brimeux today.

And tomorrow morning,

you'll be behind bars.

But, if Mr. Brimeux said to me,

"My dear Liéthard,

"women are expensive,
I forgive you."

If Mr. Brimeux
was a kind-hearted man,

he wouldn't be chairman and CEO.

For sure.

Excuse me.

But you, Mr. Gruson.

-You're only head cashier
-Be careful...

You could maybe keep quiet.

Stall for a week.
They'll never know.

My uncle's dying,
and I've a bet on for Sunday.

One way or another I might win.

You have no morals, Liéthard.

To return to the matter on hand.

I would be your accomplice
if I remained silent.

So, give me the money at once,

or Mr. Brimeux.

There's no 3rd solution?

There's no 3rd solution.

There isn't?

Let's suppose I return the money

and then Mr. Brimeux
finds out about it anyway?

Nobody knows, except you and me.

Not even Mrs. Gruson,
to who I've told everything

for the past 20 years,
doesn't know that I'm here.

-I have your word?
-Yes.

Your official word?

Yes.

Your word as head cashier?

Yes.

The money's in the drawer.
You can have it.

-What's this?
-The 3rd solution.

Go on, continue.
It happens to me too.

Where's the gingerbread?

In the tin can.

Which one?

The 3rd from the left,
in the 2nd cupboard.

No...

It's not the 3rd.

Repeat the 2nd tempo.

20,000 new francs.

Vacations at Baie de Somme.

Don't trust the banks?

I would need to open an account.
An investigation would be done.

Since I started taking care of
kids, everyone's watching me.

Even the orphanages.

They watch you so closely
when you try to do good.

I don't know.
I never tried.

No more tapioca.
I took some vermicelli.

Nice.

You'll never guess
what I just did.

I planted potatoes.

OK then!

Is this new?

-What?
-Wearing a bowler now?

Me?

Yes, it's because...

I read in a fashion magazine

that London bank employees
were wearing bowler hats.

The bowler hat.
"Why not me?" I asked myself.

Old England, no?

Very.

How am I going to take that out?

The stain.

-What stain?
-This stain here.

It's a pain...

Yesterday evening,
I knocked over a bottle of...

Mouton-Rothschild.

-Don't drink cider anymore?
-It was just once.

It's a gift from Mr. Brimeux,
my boss.

Are you sure
he didn't give you some wine?

It's pretty thick.

It's the blackcurrant.

Fine wine takes out a drop of
blackcurrant right away.

We say it's "of the Commune."

I read this in a magazine.

The same one that talked about
bowler hats?

Exactly.

You must think I'm an idiot.

I thought wafers were
the ultimate food!

Madam President...
Imagine that.

I'll call myself Madam Countess.
It's more stable.

It's exhilarating.

They would've said that to us
in Mrs. Doriane's time...

I've forgotten
about Mrs. Doriane.

-You were saying?
-I've forgotten about her.

My psychiatrist told me
I shouldn't think about her.

-It came at the right time.
-You don't think so?

Édouard reminds me a bit
of those times.

It's the advantage of
marrying a client.

If they don't start livening up
Bourg-en-Bresse parties...

Last Saturday, we did
2 small plays.

It was Suzanne Aubin and...

-The whims of...
-Les Malheurs de Sophie.

Ah yes. Remember them?
Édouard says I haven't changed.

Listen, Jannou...

A lot of women would love to be
like you at 30.

You've got nothing sagging.

But in braids and anklets,
it's a bit much, no?

You think?

When I go wild,
it feels like the old times.

You need to erase "yesterday"
from your vocabulary.

The Rueil villa, Mr. Senator,

Mr. French Minister of Justice.
I replaced all this

with a college in England,

rich relations
and an impregnable virginity.

I've lost my memory.

I don't approve of sexual
orgies. I don't condemn them.

I don't know what it means.

Well, then...

I'm shocked.

Now that you get my drift,

I'll tell it to you,
because it's you.

What?

Didn't we have a lot of fun?

-You're here?
-Well, yes.

I didn't hear you.

It's the advantage of having
carpet instead of cow hair.

You don't hear anything.

-It's more expensive.
-What?

The carpet.

-More expensive than what?
-Than cow hair.

What the hell do I care?

His mind was elsewhere.

He was watching over
his potatoes.

The small one would pay a lot
to forget it.

What small one?

Get me my styptic stick!
Can't you see I'm bleeding?

-The neck, it's not serious.
-It's not serious?

Don't talk to me

when I'm shaving.
It confuses me.

Me? I never talk.

I didn't touch you.

I was saying she would pay a lot
to forget all of it.

-Are you OK?
-Some more...

Would it bother you
to admit that you danced?

It bothers her.

Her doctor wants her
to forget it.

Whose doctor?

You're talking nonsense.
You must still be plastered.

It's Ms. Marquette's doctor.
Before the TV, she was a dancer.

In ballets.
A colorful ballet, but I forgot.

A colorful ballet?

Of the color pink,
by any chance?

That's it.
You're like a wizard...

That's scary.

Ms. Marquette
is a TV celebrity?

She's our dear Francine,

who's going to be the Countess
de La Motte Brébière.

-The Secretary?
-Yes

You know these people?

You know the famous in France,
and you don't talk about it?

I never talk.

-Cashier, please.
-Madam...

A transfer order.

Is my hat crooked?

No, nothing's crooked.
On the contrary.

For transfers, go to counter 4.

Regarding the problems
of today's youths,

we have a mom
who needs our help.

Your name is Mrs. Juliette?

You have a 13-year-old boy?

Yes, Francine.

What's the little rascal's name?

His name is Marcel.

-What did he do wrong?
-He was expelled from school.

Marcel deserves to be grounded
with no movie privileges.

But he would have

a guilt complex
for just a small sin.

-He was caught smoking.
-You see?

But it was hashish.

It's a generation
of spoiled brats.

Our young Marcel must have been
mixing with a bad crowd.

It's not a habit yet.

He has other habits.

When his friend Claude came
looking for him on Thursday,

I didn't suspect anything.

Then, he came on Sunday too.

I thought it was strange.

Since the day before yesterday,
Marcel brought him home.

-Permanently.
-Obviously...

Marcel may be young, but Romeo
and Juliette were kids too.

Why not little Marcel?

Claude must be crazy about him.

It's Marcel who's crazy. Claude
is a member of the riot police.

The situation is taking

an unusual,

not to say, shocking turn.

Should we continue live?

Francine, your tact
is effective censorship.

Our viewers will still have
confidence in you.

I hope to continue
to be worthy of it.

Thank you.

She truly has class.

So, this devil
from the riot police.

Let's be careful.

Do we keep overburdening
this admirable corps,

so often
and so unjustly disparaged.

Before we continue,
let's take some calls.

An SOS to the broken-hearted.

A telephone token.

Hello, Francine?

I'm listening, broken-hearted.

I can't say my name.

I have a very official position.

We respect your anonymity.

I'm about to marry
a beautiful celebrity.

Congratulations.

There's more.

I just found out that
in her early youth,

the beloved creature
took part in exclusive parties.

-Do you know what I mean?
-Yes, parties.

No, they call them
sexual orgies.

What?

What should I do, Francine?

Nothing. Well, I mean...

Dear friends, the conversation
is becoming rather unhealthy.

I'll have to transfer our caller
to a top-secret line.

What's this about?

I'm calling the police.

In the meantime, I'll give
Mr. de La Motte Brébière a call.

-It's blackmail.
-Yes, it is.

-How much do you want?
-Two million.

Tomorrow morning at 11, at the
Louvre, in front of La Joconde.

I'm so shaken up.

What's the matter?

-I'm ruined.
-What?

-I'm being blackmailed.
-It's normal.

TV does lead some
to the Olympia.

The fool!
He's a master blackmailer.

I'm sure it's your mother.

He's got a common voice.
A bit too distinguished for Mom.

He's asking for how much?

Two million.

-It's OK.
-You don't have to fork it out.

It's reasonable
if it stops here.

That's blackmailing...

If I can hold him off until we
get to City Hall or the church.

I'll tell Georges after.

They'll both figure it out.

If it was Édouard, I'd say,
"don't get your hopes too high."

But it's not.

You don't think our experiences
as youths left us a bit shaken?

So what?

Listen. The day after
our first night together,

the Count took me
to look at rings.

That was 2 years ago.

He gave me
those magical rings 2 years ago.

2 years I've been hanging about.

2 years he's taken me on a ride.

Literally...

Exactly, it's worse.
And too much is too much.

It'll teach him a thing or two.
I'll let him have it.

And then I'll introduce him
to Mom.

I said 11, not 11:05.

Ah, it's you...

It's me.

You look the part.

You're vile.

Larval.

The grub crawls at your feet.

You're even more beautiful
and distinguished in person.

Can an admirer kiss your hand?

Do you want a slap in the face?

The varnish is cracking.
You're returning to the gutter.

Swear for me.

Here's the money.
All my savings.

Goodbye, sir.

See you soon, my dear.

-Hello, Mr. Brimeux.
-Hello, Delpuech.

Mr. CEO.

-Say, Liéthard...
-Mr. CEO.

Do you have any news
of Mr. Gruson?

He's been absent for 6 days.
No explanation.

No news, Mr. CEO.

Mr. CEO.

You worked 10 years
under his orders, right?

Gruson never confided in you?

No, sir.

Did he have any health problems?

Money issues?

-Horses?
-No.

Women?

A former cub scout.

A qualified first-aid worker.

Long-service medal.

A beast.

A real beast, Mr. CEO.

-Who is it?
-Alexandre.

Sweetheart.

Come in, darling.

-Your husband?
-At Jouy-en-Josas for the day.

He has to travel further
to sell his vacuum cleaners.

It's a stroke of luck for us.
I missed you.

Ah yes, my dear.
Business...

A fascinating world,
but terrible.

Hold on a minute.

At the opening
of the Stock Exchange,

I sold off my 3,000 oil shares.

I swept up Chandernagor trams.
One billion in profits.

One billion? Well, really...

One more, one less,
it's nothing much.

What's exhilarating is the game.

When Alexandre Liéthard

launches into battle
his impressive maneuvers.

You should have seen Brimeux.

You know who he is?

Yes, he's your banker.

He's a man of straw.
The poor type.

One day,
I'll crush him like the others.

You hear me? Like the others!

Care for lime-blossom tea,
or a glass of banyul?

I had lunch with champagne
with La Motte Brébière.

The Secretary, you know?

Someone I have to keep
an eye on too.

Who's the big teddy bear
to his little girl?

Who's going to give a big cuddle
in the big dodo?

Who's at the door?

It's me, Fernand! Open up!

-My husband.
-Heavens!

He's going to kill you.
He's crazy.

You took your time.

You don't have your keys?

I forgot them.
Hold on, I've got them.

I thought you were
in Jouy-en-Josas.

-I missed my train.
-There were no taxis?

I couldn't even take the metro.
I returned by foot.

With the cases.

I got my wallet stolen
at the Orsay station.

Poor Fernand.

What's this?

A cigar.

-You smoke cigars now?
-No...

Well, yes.

Slut!

Hussy! Whore!

You couldn't just meet up
with him in town!

You had him come here!
In my place.

He doesn't mind, your Liéthard.

Mr. Liéthard!

What does he have that I don't,
the big slug?

Everything!

He's rich, he's smart.

He's tall, he's handsome.

You can't even sell
a vacuum cleaner.

He buys Honolulu trams.

Chandernagor trams!

Right. Chandernagor.

And in bed, he's the same.

Be quiet.

No, I want you to know.

I want everyone to know.
I love him.

I love him!

-And you love this?
-Hit her harder.

There!

A dress to replace... 650.

Pantyhose, 12 francs.

And the shoe that went
through the window...

Are you pleased?

-It went well?
-Yes.

Except this habit of treating me
like a big slug.

I can't stand vulgarity.

I counted the ashtray,
the parchment lampshade,

the foot of
the pedestal table...

And my bonus.

Try working on your part
in the future.

With your rate, I'll soon be
going to Comédie-Française.

-Hello!
-Mr. Liéthard.

-You came to see me?
-No.

It's not for me.

Come in.

Please announce me.

What do I say?

"The gentleman from the museum."

-Who is it?
-The gentleman from the museum.

-The bandit! Throw him out.
-Ladies.

My humble respects.

It's fine, Germaine.

It's OK.

I didn't mean to disturb you.
I didn't want to seem tactless.

She knows that you're scum.

Good.

I'm not a future client.
My husband knows everything.

Pity.

Beautiful.

What are you doing here?

Returning my money?

I can't afford it.

If I did, my gazelles, I would
throw my fortune at your feet.

You would have white boats,
blue pools,

pink mink coats...

Alexandre Liéthard is like this.

I'm with a young woman

so I'm forced to ask you
for more money.

My money's going to a whore.

A return to the source.

How unrefined.

With his mug, he must pay more.

You friend is unpleasant.
I'm penalizing you 10%.

-That's 22,000.
-Where do I get it?

If I knew where to find them,

I wouldn't be reduced
to this unpleasant approach.

Ladies.

Tomorrow at noon,
in the Trocadéro gardens.

In front of the bovid.

Don't be late.
I have strict office hours.

My humble respects.

-Remind me to give you a raise.
-Thanks, sir.

Doesn't stop us from one day...

On the workbox? OK.

Borrow it from Georges.

Borrow it from Georges.

Under what pretext?

-Well...
-What?

-Know what I think?
-Go on.

When he saw you, he started
blinking everywhere.

-Find something else.
-That would be nice.

Instead of taking my money
to his slut,

Alexandre gives it to you
and you'll return it to me.

And if he comes back
a few days later?

-We start over.
-That's it!

Let's do an automatic transfer.

You transfer it to Alexandre.
He transfers it to me.

I transfer it to you.
Won't cost a thing.

And I get screwed every 2 days.

Would it bother you if I passed
the vacuum cleaner?

He's got a weird name
for a teacher.

Turn off the vacuum.
I can't hear you.

I was saying Libellule is
a weird name for a teacher.

Nothing wrong with it.

Nothing wrong with hiding
millions in a can either.

This doesn't concern me.

But what if I were smart,

a psychologist
like Mademoiselle...

If the archbishop saw you
dressed up as a female,

he'd take away your kids.
You'd get off easy.

Don't make a big deal
for 2 million.

But it is a big deal.

When we sing,
"À la claire fontaine"

You know...

"À la claire fontaine..."

And when we sing about
the dragonfly gone mad.

The small pretty dragonfly...
It's not a hobby.

It was for vacation money.

I'll go to hell for nothing.

Stop your crying.

No.

The small ones won't get
to see the ocean.

They'll see it soon enough.

The sea is dangerous.

Bathers drown,
boats sink.

With anticyclones
and tidal waves.

Icebergs.

Icebergs?
In Baie de Somme?

Or some other thing.
It's all the same.

The sea is dangerous.

Even if there isn't water.

When you go digging in
the Mont-Saint-Michel bay,

you'll find it full of
boy scout hats.

Listen, madam,

this is not the victim
speaking here.

But the teacher,
the sociologist.

Where did you hear
so much rubbish?

Two years in television.

So...

Are you doing this on purpose?
I have strict hours.

-And your car!
-What?

Not discrete. Why not bring
a fire truck instead?

Let's go.

Foot to the pedal.

-Stop with the amphetamines.
-Let's go!

Go in there, we'll be quiet.

The dough.

I respect agreements.
A real gentleman.

Next time, don't be late.

You think there'll be
a next time?

You're beautiful
when you're angry.

A real lioness.

How's your friend?

Here's your money, sir.

The money of 40 orphans.

Forty poor ones
who won't see the ocean.

I also have my charities.

That's more like it.

Ladies, gentlemen.

A white.

Why the sad face?

Can you lend me your paper?

-You can't buy one?
-No.

MISSING

Never again!

These kids are driving me crazy!

Go play outside.

You seem nervous.
Time to go?

We're not leaving anymore.

My cashbox is empty.

Unforseen expenses,
very unexpected.

If they gave a bonus,
I would fill your box.

A bonus? Why?

For nothing.
I prefer not to say anything.

He really had a wife.

Grandchildren, cousins,
nephews, a grand mother.

The family could pay.

The police could make an effort.

But it's this, the new society.

It's dodging the fare,
selfishness.

It's all free. That's it.

I'll say one thing:
no bonus, no body.

What body?

I prefer to be quiet.

Are you sure you're OK?

I drank a coffee before leaving.

And some wine topped
with Triolet. Why?

What?

It takes more than that
to get Germaine drunk.

I have experience with drinks.

Comes from traveling.

I've tasted
croissants from all over.

At La Villette,
La Mouff, Malakoff.

Even La Croix-de-Berny.

To get Mémaine on his back,

I need something stronger
than a small pickle.

You definitely haven't eaten
anything.

I have to say, I have no
idea what you're talking about.

It's better than
talking about potatoes.

What?

Potatoes.

-You're looking for whom?
-Mr. Liéthard, please.

He's at the 2nd counter.

Thank you.

Excuse me, sir?

-For checks, 3rd counter.
-No.

If it's to deposit cash...

It would be to withdraw.

Two million old.

You have an account number?

Mr. Alexandre Liéthard's
account.

Potato farmer.

You know who I am?

Don't scorn me.
St. Paul said,

"I don't do what I want to do.
Instead, I do what I hate."

I don't care about St. Paul.
I'm pissed off!

Well, Mr. Liéthard, leftist!

Excuse me.

It's my malaria crises.
It's the Tonkin.

Dear client and friend,
where were you?

-At St. Paul.
-What a remarkable man.

Of all the cliques,
he's my favorite.

You're a hideous slug.

This evening at the Triolet.

-I know.
-Blvd Aragon.

-I know!
-At Courbevoie.

While waiting,

please accept
my sincere condolences.

Sir,

if I had a bigger garden,
I would have come with my gun.

A Manufrance 7.65.
A big one that proves its worth.

That would have been
the best thing to do.

I'm so ashamed about this money.

If it wasn't for
my little ones...

I've already seen
two-faced bastards,

but you're superficial.

-Would you have a handkerchief?
-Need anything else?

-What are you having?
-Tomato juice with celery.

The same.

You got me so upset,
I can't see straight.

If I weren't so scared
to upset you...

I'd ask you a question.

Go ahead.

I don't dare.

You pointed that out already.

Don't get angry.

Never.

And Mr. Gruson?

I was expecting this.
Injustice, appearances.

Doesn't seem like a villainous
crime? Yes, I confess it!

You think I killed Mr. Gruson
for 2 million?

But this bastard has been
bugging me for 10 years.

Here, sir.

I swear to you on my honor,
I would've killed him.

That's fine.

-I mean...
-Your question?

Can I?

You have the money?

-You're not checking?
-Among honest people...

Two tomato juice.

What's the matter?

He forgot the celery.

It's my only delicacy.

I find it disgusting.

Brings back memories?

It strengthens the gums.

I don't take it for that reason.

It's an aphrodisiac.

Really?

A cup.

A saucer.

A Chinese doll.

A low table.

A bedside lamp.

And a dress.

Parlez-moi d'amour,
by Tino Rossi.

I'm not counting the celery.

What's the use?

Must admit that...

Add a phone, while you're at it.

-But for Paris!
-Yes.

My throat is burning.

When I saw you grabbing
the salt shaker,

I knew something was fishy.

It's the celery sticks
that make the difference.

You couldn't have told me?

Hello?

I'd like to speak to
Ms. Marquette.

Ms. Marquette is rehearsing
at the ORTF until midnight.

You won't be able
to contact her. Who is this?

Mr. Alexandre.

Can I leave a message?

Of course.

I'm listening.

Pay no attention, it's...

It's a play. A curtain raise.

"The bovids
are even more expensive.

"The agreements must be signed
tomorrow at noon."

Thank you.

Come here.

Someone named Alexandre.
Know him?

No.

Don't get sick because of this.

It's making me crazy.
I'm so furious.

I see him everywhere.
Even in my dreams...

Before,
I would dream about Georges.

-I'd dream about Édouard.
-Before what?

-I don't know.
-You don't regret so much.

In life, Georges is incapable
of cheating on me.

In my dreams, he was.

-That's funny...
-What, the dreams?

Life.

"I smoke, you spit.

"Yo fumo, tu escupes.

"Habla de ti, no de mi.

"Talk about yourself, not..."

How distinguished
Germaine looks.

The Habsbourg are at her feet.

She's as rich as them.

Thank you.

You told me
to ask for an increase.

I fear I was being
a bit optimistic.

The economic situation
is fluctuating.

-You think it's going to rain?
-I don't think so.

We have a beautiful day ahead.

Mr. Phalempin.

Excuse me.

I'm really confused.

I myself have a matter
with a vampire.

Mr. Liéthard.

Excuse me for disturbing you.

I'm still more unfortunate
than St. Paul.

I'll repent.

I'll go to Compostelle
on my hands.

You're a harmful person.
A social misfit.

I know.

You couldn't tell me
it was the celery sticks?

I do not fund
sea baths and yachting.

I'm broke, understand?

What's inside?
Lottery tickets?

At the rate we're going,

we should have interest to
create a contingency fund

and rent a postal box.

These comings and goings
are killing us.

Stop skipping lunch.

The next time,
pass by the bank.

It'll be simpler.

Mr. Liéthard, it's for you.

Hello?

You again?

-What time do you close?
-4 p.m. Why?

Because I need to see you.

-I have to be on air in 15 min.
-Your ethics class?

That's funny. Next time,
you'll get a 10% penalty.

Do you have 90 cents
for the metro?

-I left like this.
-You're exaggerating.

Do you have change?

Let it not be so, Lord.

I promise to mend my ways.

I'll say my mass so that Mr.
Gruson's soul rests in peace.

I won't go to Lucette's anymore.

I won't write anonymous letters.
I will not steal.

Just let it not be so.

-Hello?
-It's me again.

Tomorrow 6 a.m. at the Triolet.

But it's Sunday, the Lord's day!

You're right.

Monday then, same time,
same place, same amount.

-What's this?
-Cream of mushrooms.

There were fresh ones available,

But I preferred
to take the tin.

If there's one food
that we must be careful with,

it's the mushroom.

A bit in soups, omelettes...

Whole families have died
because of it.

I saw it in the newspapers.

We want to pick chanterelles but
end up with Satan's mushroom.

"I'll slap some ceps
in the oven."

And you end up with
entoloma lividum.

Don't get me going
on death caps.

-No?
-No.

Last year,

the Treasury Department withdrew
more than 4,000 taxpayers.

What's the name of the most
dangerous type of mushrooms?

Death caps.

Be careful!

Look but don't touch.

You can die
by licking your fingers.

It's the monster of the forest.

The killer of families.

The Dracula of the undergrowth.

The dreadful death cap.

A few seconds
after you ingest it,

you start vomiting.
You get anxiety attacks,

and cramps.

Then, you're dead.

A collapse
and excessive jaundice.

As nature teaches us things,

we'll examine the nuptial flight
of the fern black fly...

Two tomato juice.

Sorry I'm late.

I had 3 transfers.

Regardless of the enormous funds
we're dealing with,

I take the metro.

-You have the money with you?
-Of course.

Sit down.

Are you having something?
I'm ordering.

In that case...

Something sweet..

-Very nice of you.
-My pleasure.

You're being very nice.

Here.

Want some?

Do you have celery salt?

Don't touch it, you old bag!

-It's ours.
-It's for everyone.

-She asked me for it.
-I asked for it first.

And no chivalry for an old lady?

Thank you.

We're surrounded
by the uneducated. Come.

Come!

-It won't be long.
-It risks going fast.

Anxiety attacks, cramps,
excessive jaundice...

It's not safe here. The owner
has a murderous look about him.

Let's go further.

Why?

I don't know. I sense
something's wrong. Not you?

You were about to con me.

I, Alexandre Liéthard,
"con" someone?

Here, sir.

-Don't take it badly.
-I call it as I see it.

You can count it at home.

Why are you hitting me?

Because there's a...

Wait a second.
It's too much sometimes.

The old lady.

I don't understand.
There's been a mix-up.

I'm really confused.

Confusion
that you don't suspect.

The French, Mr. Liéthard...

Thank you.

-What was I saying?
-The French.

The French, Mr. Liéthard,
die at age 69.

I can admit that this person

entered the complexity
of statistics.

But we should never play with
the health of kids.

So, I advise you...

And I say this,

I should say
"I order you"

to be in the garden
with the money at midnight.

Or else,

I'll have to inform
the archbishop

of Libellule's exploits.

-You're going out?
-I'll return in a bit.

-Wait for me.
-Come on.

Listen to the latest Dylan
or take a look at the new book.

I'm giving you a break.

-Here it is.
-What's this?

Paper.
We're paying with this.

OK.

We're paying with this now.

When we invent a stupid game...

What are you doing here?

Getting some air.

Make the best of it.

I passed by the Triolet. A lot
of stretchers were leaving.

I'm going to the police. I'll
save Courbevoie from genocide.

And while waiting,

Please, sir...

That's how I lost a client.

The kind Mr. Phalempin
has surely gone to heaven.

It's a consolation.

You scared me.

I'm looking for the exit.
I was lost.

Not lost for everyone.
I'm bewitched. I can't sleep.

You're mistaken, it's not me.

Saturday,
you were on the ironing board.

And Germaine on the worktable.

I'm surrounded by perverts.

Last time I saw Mr. Liéthard,
his legs were sheathed in silk.

He died
leaving a good impression.

I've had to attend
2 funerals this week.

Eight days later,
I went to a wedding.

I'm glad
to give you the bouquet.

If you only knew how happy I am.

It's such a beautiful day
for Mademoiselle.

-If I may ask...
-Yes?

Can I have a hug?

Of course,
my dear and faithful servant.

I have some bad news.

Me too.

-What's your bad news?
-Well, the thing is...

My husband... My fiancé
wants to move.

We'll be living
in Champ-de-Mars.

Valet, cook.
The whole crew.

I won't be needing you anymore.

That's perfect!

Two owners are killed,
one owner marries.

This is a season for deaths.

I was expecting
to have a private income.

Which income?

Yours.

This is my news.

You need to explain yourself.

Explain what? And to whom?

We lost so many people.

We're like 2 orphans now.

Are you ready, darling?

Only the Count remaining.

The poor man.

What?

Ravishing.

Immaculate, pure.

Gossamer.

Virginal.

Always the right words.

The prefect is below.
Everyone is waiting.

Forgotten something,
Mademoiselle?

No.

-My poor legs?
-I forgot. Germaine is leaving.

-It's not possible!
-She's retiring. I'll explain.

I can explain.

-How?
-I need to talk to you.

Right away?
Everyone's below.

What?

What's she thinking?

She's schizophrenic.

It's dreadful.

It's an admiral's pension.

If you don't do it for her,
do it for me.

It will be my wedding gift.

Fine. OK. Can we go now?

Best wishes to your happiness.

Let's go!

Ladies and gentlemen.

A lot of activity here.

It comes, it goes.

-A white.
-No, tomato juice.

Not seasoned.

No need to play Mémaine.

-Who's that?
-Princess Germaine.

Yesterday evening, the Kaiser
killed himself for her.