Original subtitles

FANNY: In London, there was a society Linda knew

which looked after ladies stranded in railway stations.

In France, more likely, there would be one

for shipping them off to South America.

Any moment now, somebody...

some genial old woman or jolly French gentleman...

might come up and give her an injection,

after which she would disappear forever.

Fiends! Fiends!

Oh, how right Fa always was.

Abroad is bloody and foreigners are fiends!

Allez-vous-en.

Bonjour, bonjour.

Voulez-vous vous en allez?

[Chuckling]

It is necessary that I explain to you

that I am not a white slave.

I am the daughter of a very important milord anglais.

One does not have to be Sherlock Holmes to get that.

French ladies covered with the exterior signs of wealth

do not sit crying on their suitcases

at the Gare du Nord at this hour of the morning.

White slaves, on the other hand, always have protectors.

And it's only too clear that just now

you are unprotected.

Alors, I invite you to luncheon with me,

but first you must have a bath and a rest

and a cold compress on your face.

Venez.

I ask to be excused for not taking you to the Ritz,

but I have a feeling for the Hotel Montalembert just now

that it will suit your mood this morning

in a discreet way.

I shall return at 1:00

when you will join me in the dining room for luncheon.

A toute a I'heure, madame.

[Chuckles]

You have kept me waiting for half an hour.

That's a very good sign.

Sign of what?

Oh, of this and that.

A good augur for our affair... it will be happy and last long.

We are not having an affair!

My name is Fabrice. May one ask yours?

Linda.

Linda? Ah, comme c'est jolie.

With me, it usually lasts five years.

Ah, let me see now.

What would Madame wish to eat?

If Madame could see a menu...

Alors, le foie gras frais de canard,

les queues de homards avec une salade verte

et un Bordeaux age 32, avec Evian.

Monsieur.

I adore les femmes, but some matters

are too important for them to be allowed to interfere.

And now, Madame, recount.

Recount what?

But, of course, the story.

Who was it that left you to cry on that suitcase?

He didn't. I left him.

It was my second husband and I have left him forever,

because he has fallen in love with a welfare worker.

Not that you'd know what that is.

Because I'm sure they do not exist in France.

What a very curious reason

for leaving one's second husband.

Surely, with your experience of husbands,

you must have noticed that falling in love

with other women is one of the things they do.

However, it's an ill wind, as you say,

and I do not complain.

But where is your suitcase?

Why you do not put yourself in the train

and take yourself back to Monsieur,

the very important milord anglais, your father?

It's a very long story.

Oh, then, please tell it.

Moi, j'adore les histoires.

Merci.

Perpignan.

And in the name of heaven,

what were you and your husband doing there?

Trying to stop you Frogs from teasing the poor Spaniards.

Teasing them? Were we?

Herding them into camps.

And what were we supposed to do with them?

We never invited them, you know.

You made them go into camps and then gave them no shelter.

It's quite a job to provide shelter at the moment's notice

for a half million people.

Then if you couldn't give them shelter,

why did you make them go into your camps?

Because there we could, and did, feed them.

In any case, you could hardly expect us to turn them loose

on the countryside with no money.

What would have been the result of that?

Do use your common sense.

You should mobilize them all

to fight in the war against fascism,

which is coming any day now.

Talk about what you know, Madame,

and you would not get so angry.

We haven't enough equipment for our own soldiers

to win the war against Germany that's coming.

And not any day, my dear Linda, but probably after the harvest.

And now, go on telling me about your husband, Christian,

and why you had no money at the Gare du Nord.

It is, I promise you, so much more interesting.

So, before the poor husband Christian,

there was the rich husband Tony,

who had more money than taste,

that he gave you this truly hideous fur coat

that you were wearing on the suitcase.

You are very rude.

It's a lovely fur coat.

It's only expensive.

Mink, vison...

the color is nightmare and the cut is bad.

Anyway, coats are getting longer.

I see I must get you some clothes.

If you were well-dressed, you would be quite good-looking.

Even so, your eyes are too small.

Brown.

A good color, but... too small.

In England, I am considered a beauty.

Well...

you have points.

More coffee?

Or are we to come now and see my flat?

I would rather see Paris.

Do you know Paris well?

I've never been here before in my life.

Never been here before?

Then what a pleasure for me to show it to you.

There is so much to show.

It will take weeks.

Unfortunately, I leave for England tomorrow.

Ah, yes, of course, yes.

Then...

we must see it all this afternoon.

Et apres, we shall go to see my flat.

You may go where you please.

I shall return to the Hotel Montalembert.

Very well, Madame.

It's a magnificent resistance, Madame,

and I congratulate you with all my heart.

Oh, be it never so humble, there's no place like home.

Tell the housekeeper to have a set of rooms

prepared for Mr. Dougdale.

The ones he always used to have.

He will be staying indefinitely.

Miss Sonia, of course I'd love to stay for a few days,

but I really can't...

Absolutely your home from now on.

Yes, but what about Polly?

You'll simply have to face it, Boy, darling,

she's gone off with that old Paddington creature

and she's not coming back.

Now, you know you're going to love being here with Sonia.

Not to mention one.

So, just say "thank you" nicely the way that nanny taught you

and let's not have any more nonsense, eh?

Well...

[Chuckling]

[Telephone rings]

Hello?

FABRICE: Hello, hello. Are you eating breakfast?

How clever of you to know.

Is it good?

It's delicious.

I have to keep stopping to make it go on longer.

Are you having yours?

Had it. I must tell you that I like

very long conversations in the morning,

and I shall expect you to recount lots of "histoires."

Like Scheherazade.

Yes, just like.

But for now you must get up, because in one hour

I must fetch you... I have something to show you.

You have never before been to Paris.

LINDA: Of course, you know the old story

of the two English ladies who were walking here,

and suddenly they were surrounded

by people in 18th-century clothes.

And they saw Marie Antoinette

sitting in her garden at the Little Trianon.

A very silly and boring tale.

Histoires are of interest only when they are true.

Or when you make them up specially to amuse me.

Histoires de fantomes imagined by some English virgins

are neither true nor interesting,

so no more stories of ghosts, Madame, if you please.

I'm only doing my best to please you.

You tell a story.

Yes, I will.

And this story is true.

My grandmother was very beautiful and had many lovers.

All her life, even when she was quite old.

A short time before she died,

she was in Venice with my mother.

And one day they saw, from the gondola,

a beautiful palazzo of pink marble, very exquisite.

They stopped the gondola to look at it and my mother said,

"I don't believe anybody lives there.

Let's try to see the inside."

So they rang the bell, and an old servant came

and said that nobody had lived there for many, many years

and that he would show it to them if they liked.

So they went in and upstairs to the salone,

which had three windows looking over the canal

and was decorated in 15th-century plaster work.

White on a background of pale blue.

It was a perfect room.

My grandmother seemed strangely moved

and sat for a long time in silence.

At last, she said to my mother,

"lf, in the third drawer of that bureau,

there is a filigree box containing a small gold key

and a black velvet ribbon,

this house belongs to me."

And my mother looked,

and there was.

And it did.

One of my grandmother's lovers had given it to her

years and years before when she was quite young.

And she had forgotten all about it.

Goodness!

What fascinating lives you foreigners do lead.

And it belongs to me now.

I would take you there tomorrow, but...

But what?

One must stay here now, you see, for the war.

Oh, I keep forgetting about the war.

Yes.

Let's forget it.

You are very badly coiffed, ma cherie.

If you don't like my hair and you don't like my clothes

and you think my eyes are so small,

I don't know what you see in me.

Nevertheless, I'd swear that...

there is...

quelque chose.

Such perfect meals you give a girl.

Have you no other engagements?

Of course. I've canceled them.

Who are your friends?

Les gens du monde.

The men and women of the polite world.

And yours?

When I was married to Tony, I used to go out in le monde.

It was my life.

But Christian disapproved of it.

He stopped me going to parties and frightened away my friends,

whom he considered frivolous and idiotic.

Everybody's getting more serious.

That's the way things are going.

But whatever one may be in politics...

left/right, fascist/communist...

les gens du monde are

the only possible ones for France.

And what else is there to distinguish man from the animals

but his social life?

Who understand it so well,

who can make it so smooth and amusing as les gens du monde?

But one cannot have le monde

at the same time as a love affair.

One must be wholehearted to enjoy it.

So I have canceled all my engagements.

What a pity.

'Cause I leave for London tomorrow.

Oh, yes.

I had forgotten.

What a pity.

[Telephone rings]

Hello?

Hello, hello. Are you asleep?

What do you think? What time is it?

About 2:00.

Shall I come round and see you?

Do you mean now?

Yes.

I must say, that would be very nice.

But the thing is, what would the night porter think?

[Chuckling] Oh, ma chere. How English you are!

I must break it to you.

You will not be under an illusion.

I suppose not.

But then, isn't there no illusion as it is?

After all, I come for you three or four times every day.

And French people, even those who are not les gens du monde,

are quite quick at noticing these things.

In short, your reputation at the hotel

will become no worse than it already is.

Oh, I see.

Very well. We understand each other.

I shall be with you very shortly.

This is Germaine, who will look after your every request.

So, you see, it will be altogether

plus commodieux at the Hotel Montalembert.

Altogether, the most sensible and convenient thing.

[Linda chuckles]

Yes, I do see, Fabrice. Extremely sensible.

When I was young, I liked to be very romantic.

I ran all kinds of risks.

I used to hide in wardrobes,

to be brought into the house in a trunk,

to climb in at windows... ah, mon Dieu!

How I used to climb.

Then one night I climbed into a wasp's nest.

The agony.

So now I prefer to be comfortable and have my own key.

I shall be back here for dinner,

which Germaine will prepare at half-past 8:00.

I think it important, you see,

to have and follow your routine.

It is necessary, when all is said, to be practical.

Au revoir, Madame.

FANNY: Indeed, Linda thought,

nobody could be more practical than Fabrice.

No nonsense about him.

A little nonsense, she thought, would have been rather nice.

And then Linda thought rather wistfully of her mother.

She hadn't liked it

when Linda had committed adultery with Christian.

But he, at least, was English.

And Linda had been properly introduced to him,

and knew his surname.

Also, Christian had all along intended to marry her.

But how much less would my Aunt Sadie like her daughter

to pick up an unknown, nameless foreigner

and go off with him to live in luxury?

Linda profoundly hoped she would never find out.

Nor Uncle Matthew.

If he knew her situation,

he would come charging down the street

with his shotgun,

or, at the very least, one of his stock whips.

GERMAINE: Madame?

Madame, I think it is time for madame to take her bath.

Monsieur le Duc will be here in three-quarters of an hour.

Thank you.

Merci, Germaine.

Could one know your name?

Haven't you discovered that?

My name is Sauveterre.

I'm happy to tell you, Madame, I am a very rich duke,

a most agreeable thing to be, even in these days.

How lovely for you.

And while we're on the subject of your private life,

are you married?

No.

Why not?

My fiancee died.

Oh, how sad.

What was she like?

Very pretty.

Prettier than me?

Much prettier.

Very correct.

More correct than me?

You, Madame, hmm...

one doesn't think of in terms of correctness.

And then she was so gentle.

La gentillesse, la pauvre...

What was her name?

Louise.

Only child of the last Duc de Ronce.

You know, five years...

you did say, with you, it normally lasts five years...

it's quite a long time when it's all in front of you.

Louise died...

more than five years ago.

15 years, in the autumn.

I always go and put late roses on her grave.

Those little dyed roses

with very dark green leaves

that never open properly.

C'est triste.

Do you always laugh when you make love?

[Giggling]

I hadn't thought about it.

But I suppose I do.

Do you find it odd?

Very...

disconcerting at first, I must say.

Why?

Don't most women laugh?

Indeed, they do not!

More often, they cry.

How extraordinary.

Don't they enjoy it?

[Chuckles]

It's nothing to do with enjoyment.

No, they are young, they call on their mothers.

If they are religious,

they call on the virgin to forgive them.

But I've never known one who laughed,

except you.

What else do they do?

What they all do... except you...

They say...

"How... you must despise me."

Why should you despise them?

Really, my dear, one does, that's all.

How unfair.

First you seduce them, then you despise them, poor things.

What a monster you are.

Well, they like it.

They like groveling about and saying,

"Oh, whatever have I done?

Oh, mon Dieu, Fabrice, helas, whatever must you think of me?

Oh, how bitterly I'm ashamed!"

But you...

You seem unaware of your shame.

You just roar with laughter.

It's very strange.

And... rather agreeable, I must admit.

What about Louise,

your fiancee?

Didn't you despise her?

Of course not.

She was a virtuous woman.

Do you mean to say you never went to bed with her?

Never.

Never would such a thing

have crossed my mind in a thousand years.

Goodness.

In England, we always do.

Oh, my dear, it's well-known,

the animal side of the English.

The English are a drunken and incontinent race.

And the whole world agrees.

The English don't know it.

They think it's you foreigners that are all those things.

French women are the most virtuous in the world.

Good night, Basil. I'll come tuck you in later.

Good night, David.

CEDRIC: Basil.

I see I narrowly avoided a domestic scene.

What a pity, darling.

I should have so enjoyed watching you playing the mother.

It's just as well you didn't. It is a very private role.

Surely, you wouldn't have resented an audience of one.

After all, you've seen me often enough playing the son.

And I hope you're as dutiful as ever, Cedric.

Yes! And it's so much easier now.

Boy's in the house, you see,

to take her off my hands a lot of the time.

Still no sign of Polly coming back?

Not a chance, my darling.

She's far too engrossed with her randy old Paddington,

and even if she wanted to come back, Boy wouldn't have her.

Boy, my dear, has other fish to fry.

A fish whose name begins with "C"?

And will one day begin with "M"...Boy will love that.

So, all ways round, my darling,

things have worked out well for everybody.

Poor old Montdore has retired into a mist of senility,

but he's quite content inside it.

Polly's happy with Papa Paddington.

Boy is quite potty about one,

and one is in total blissikins with Boy.

And Sonia is absolutely delirious about both of us.

So delirious, in fact, that she's forgotten how to be mean

and pays the most alarming bills from Cartier's without a murmur.

So, here we all are, my darling,

having our lovely cake and eating it,

one's great aim in life.

I know. Alfred thinks it's terrible.

Parcels, Madame, from Lenore and Mollineux.

And there are two gentlemen to see madame.

From England.

Gracious heavens!

Well...

you do look pretty!

Are you in disguise?

What can you mean?

Oh, the spectacles.

Oh, I have to wear them when I'm abroad.

I have such kind eyes, you see.

Beggars and things cluster round and annoy me.

What have you come for?

Well, actually, we came to see if you were all right.

As it's perfectly clear that you are,

we might as well go away again.

How did you find out? Do mummy and Fa know?

No, no, no. Not a thing.

They still think you're in Perpignan with Christian.

Thank God!

But we'd heard that you'd left.

[Sighs]

So, I went round to Cheyne Walk,

where you obviously weren't.

And Merlin and I got faintly worried

to think of you wandering about the continent

so ill-suited, we thought, to look after yourself.

How wrong we were.

And at the same time, we became madly curious

to know what had become of you, so we put into motion

a little discreet detective work and here we are.

You gave us quite a fright.

Another time when you're putting on this Cleo de Merode act,

you might send a postcard.

For one thing, it's a great pleasure to see you in the part.

I wouldn't have missed it for worlds.

Deliveries, Madame.

From Catou, Balenciago, and from Sart.

Oh, goodness! How fun it all is.

Parcels, the flowers. So tremendously Victorian.

Have you yet told him that he must give you up

and marry a pure young girl?

Oh, don't tease, Dave! I'm so happy.

[Sighs]

Well, you look happy, I must say.

Ohh!

This flat is a joke.

There are some things here which raise the level.

A Gauguin.

These two Matisse.

Chintzy but accomplished.

Your protector must be very rich.

He is. I thought you knew all about him.

You and your detective work.

We found out where, but not who.

Do stay and see him. He's a terrific Hon.

No, I think we've intruded enough for one day.

Who is he?

He is called the Duke of Sauveterre.

Oh! Wha... Fabrice de Sauveterre?

Do you know him?

Of course we know him. We know all about him.

And so does everyone else in the whole world, except you.

Well, don't you think he's a terrific Hon?

Do admit.

Fabrice is undoubtedly one of the wickedest men in Europe

where women are concerned.

What a scene there will be when he smells Merlin's cigar.

There will be a crime passionnel, I shouldn't wonder.

Goodbye, Linda darling.

We're off to dine with our intellectual friends.

Oh, I shall pay for this later.

Will you have luncheon with us at the Ritz tomorrow?

I'd like that. Fabrice has never taken me to the Ritz.

1:00 then, in the bar.

Give our love to Fabrice.

Au revoir.

[Chuckles]

Ah, your taste is improving every day, ma chere.

Walk up and down.

It will need a soupcon off there

and a slight lengthening there.

Otherwise, admirable!

Continue, ma cherie. Buy more, much more.

You have not, by any chance, taken to smoking cigars?

Oh, that was an old friend of mummy's and mine.

Lord Merlin.

He came with Davey Warbeck, who married my Aunt Emily.

They say they know you.

Oh, yes, indeed.

Lord Merlin. Tellement gentil.

And that poor Warbeck, always thinking himself so ill.

I knew them in Venice.

What do they make of all this?

They roared at the flat.

Oh, yes, I can imagine.

It's not suitable for you, this flat, but it's convenient.

And with the war coming...

Oh, but I love it! I wouldn't want anything else.

Wasn't it clever of them, though, to find me?

Do you mean to say you never told anybody where you were?

I really didn't think of it.

The days go by, you know.

One simply doesn't remember these things.

Doesn't one?

And it was six weeks before

anyone thought of looking for you.

Oh, as a family, you seem to me remarkably casual.

Never, never let me go back to them again.

My darling...

but you love them, hmm?

Mummy and Fa and Little Matt and Bob

and Victoria and Fanny.

What is all this?

I never want to leave you as long as I live.

Uh-huh.

But you'll probably have to.

Quite soon.

The war is going to begin, you know?

Oh, why can't I stay here?

I could work. I could be a nurse.

Well, perhaps not a nurse, but something.

I was quite a success at Perpignan.

If you promise me to do what I tell you...

you may stay here for a time.

At the beginning, we will sit and look at the Germans

across the Maginot Line.

Then, I shall be a great deal in Paris.

Between Paris and the front, but mostly here.

Then somebody... we or the Germans...

I'm very much afraid the Germans...

will pour across the line and the war of movement will begin.

I shall have notice of that.

But what you must promise me...

is...

that the very minute I tell you to leave for London,

you will leave.

Even if you see no reason for doing so.

I shall be hampered beyond words in my duties

if you are still here.

So...

will you solemnly promise me?

All right. Solemnly.

I don't believe anything so dreadful

could possibly happen to me.

I promise to do what you say.

Now, in return, will you promise me

that you will come to London

as soon as this is all over and find me again?

Promise?

Yes, ma cherie.

I will do that.

[Violins play]

I'm here to meet Lord Merlin.

The Lord has been delayed, Madame.

I have to make one thousand regrets

and serve Madame with her choice.

Nothing, thank you. I'll just wait over there.

Madame.

[Ladies laughing]

WOMAN: And have you seen Fabrice at all?

WOMAN #2: I have because I quite often see him

with Madame de Sauveterre.

But he never goes out anywhere, as you know.

Then what about Jackie?

Still in England, waiting for her old aunt to die.

She daren't leave her alone for a second,

in case she changes her will.

Ah, mais le pauvre Fabrice. He's utterly lost without her.

Like a dog looking for its master.

He sits sadly at home, never goes to parties,

never goes to his clubs... sees nobody.

His mother is really worried about him.

And yet it is such a happy menage.

He has been faithful for five years.

Surely, she will come back soon.

On verra, on verra.

But not until her aunt dies, I think.

You know that his mother says he rings her up every morning

and talks for an hour!

[Ladies laughing]

Do you mind if I cut luncheon with you?

I... I've just remembered something very urgent.

Oh, my dear Linda, neither of us...

is in any condition to protest.

Our intellectual friends have undone us quite.

My main problem is how to get Davey home to England alive.

[Davey groans]

You see?

- Then you'll excuse me. - Just a moment.

Before you go...

Here.

Open it later.

Come along.

This is the house of the Duke de Sauveterre?

Yes, Madame.

Then I wish to speak with Monsieur le Duc at once, please.

Monsieur le Duc has gone out with Madame his mother.

Then I shall wait!

FANNY: As she waited, Linda began to feel more calm,

but at the same time very sad.

She saw this room indicated a side of Fabrice's character

which she had hardly been allowed to apprehend

and which had its roots in old and civilized French grandeur,

something in which she could never have a share,

from which she would always be kept rigidly apart

in her sunny, modern flat,

even if their liaison should last forever.

She began to realize that here were her competitors,

her enemies.

Here, in the grave of his fiancee Louise.

And to come here and make a scene about a rival mistress

would be utterly meaningless.

She would be one unreality complaining about another.

"I enclose something which may one day be useful.

Merlin."

[Whistles]

For a man with such cruel eyes,

he is extremely considerate.

[Man whistles]

Yes, another month, I should think.

As soon as they've got the harvest in.

If it depended on the English,

they'd wait until after the Christmas shopping.

Oh, Fabrice, it won't last very long, will it?

It will be very disagreeable while it does.

Did you come to my house today?

Oh, yes!

I suddenly felt I wanted to see you very, very much.

Comme c'est gentil.

But why didn't you wait?

Your ancestors frightened me off.

Oh, they did.

But you have ancestors yourself, I believe, Madame.

Yes, but they don't hang about in quite the way that yours do.

You should have waited.

It's always a great pleasure to see you,

both for me and my ancestors.

Cheers us all up.

Tell me, Fabrice,

what did you think the first time you saw me?

If you really want to know, I thought...

she's like the little Busquet.

Who's that?

There are two Busquet sisters...

the elder, who is a beauty,

and a little one who looks like you.

Thank you, sir.

I would rather resemble the other.

No, ma chere, to be too beautiful as she

is to be untouchable.

One doesn't dare dally with perfection.

It's...

far more...

appetizing...

to dally with you.

[Matthew snoring]

So sad, so many being away at Christmas.

Little Matt and Bob.

I did hope Jassy would come home from America.

Of course, the war's made that impossible.

Vict off being a Wren.

No leave for her till she's been commissioned

and passed out of her course.

Oh, but it's lovely having Louisa and her three.

It's wonderful that you and Alfred and the boys could come.

Otherwise, it would hardly

have been worth doing the decorations.

I remember these decorations from years and years ago.

Oh!

It's only right that some things should never change.

I had a letter from Linda the other day.

She seems very happy in Paris.

Yeah, Davey saw her.

Said she's very busy doing her war work,

providing comforts for the French troops.

Matthew approves of that.

He approves of all work.

I only wish the War Office would offer him a job.

He goes about like a bear with a sore head.

What's worse, Little Matt is an officer in his old regiment.

And Christian too, it seems.

Yes.

They're training in one of those secret areas

up in the north of Scotland.

I expect that's why Linda's free to stay on in Paris for a bit.

What are you thinking of?

Of Christmas at home.

I would much rather be here with you.

But I think of them.

Open your presents, ma chere.

For you...

I have this.

I bought it with some money Lord Merlin gave me.

Merlin gave you money?

I think it was in case something went very wrong

and I had to go away in a hurry.

But I won't have to go away,

so I spent his money on this.

Money.

Money's nothing.

Mais ecoutez-moi, ma chere.

What I said will happen may still happen.

Will happen.

Sooner or later, probably sooner.

I shall have to send you to England.

Where shall you go?

Home to your father?

Oh, no! Anyway, it won't happen!

All the English papers say

we're killing Germany with our blockade.

Oh, le blocus, quelle blague.

I must tell you, Madame,

they don't give a rap for your blockade.

So, where would you go?

To my own house in Chelsea.

To wait for you to come.

It might be months...

or years.

I shall wait.

What a beautiful day.

Easter is always fine in Paris.

On Sunday, I must remember to go to church.

Oh, Fabrice! How can you go to church?

Why not?

You're a Catholic, aren't you?

[Chuckling] Of course. Do I look like a Calvinist?

Then aren't you living in mortal sin?

So, what about when you confess?

One is not to be too precise.

In any case, sins of the body are quite unimportant.

Would Louise have agreed?

Louise?

What are you saying?

All that climbing in at people's bedroom windows.

Wouldn't that have upset her?

After marriage, there would have been no more climbing.

My whole life would have been devoted to making Louise happy.

Then the sins of the body are important.

The English are mad.

I've always said so.

You almost sound as if you want to be giving up.

Not tired of your war work, I hope?

No, no, Fabrice, I just wondered, that's all.

But you look so sad, ma cherie.

What is it?

Perhaps it's because I want to be more

than just a little sin of the body.

Mais vous etes, Madame.

You are the most enticing,

most enchanting thing,

and such laughter as never I heard to go with it.

I suppose that will have to do.

Is it not enough?

It's time now to go chez nous, ma chere,

for more of your special laughter.

What is it, Fabrice?

What has happened?

What had to happen.

Or, rather, very soon will.

Meanwhile, there will be a place for you

in the aeroplane this afternoon.

You must pack a small suitcase and the rest of your things.

I must go after you by train.

I have to go to the Ministre de la Guerre

and get your ticket and your special visa.

When I come back, I must take you straight to Le Bourge.

But, before I go to the Ministre,

there is just time for that little spot of war work

of which we were speaking in the Bois.

Madame.

Madame?

Germaine, no, no.

Tiens, tiens, what is this, a fancy dress party?

Fabrice, I cannot take away the things you have given me.

I loved having them while it gave you pleasure

to see me wearing them, but I have some pride!

And I was not brought up dans un bordel.

Oh, ma chere, try not to be so middle-class.

It doesn't suit you at all.

There's no time for you to change, but take this.

Germaine will send your things after you.

- Germaine... - Come now, we must go.

I might explain to Germaine why I'm leaving so suddenly!

- No time, Germaine understands. - Au revoir, Germaine.

Adieu, Madame.

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