The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie Page #3

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- No, thank you, I don't drink.

Tell me, my dear...

what is your name?

Ines.

Tell me, dear lnes...

Is that the gardener's shed

I saw as I came up?

Yes, it is, Your Grace.

But the gardener was

fired last week.

Yes, I know.

- Excuse me, I have work to do.

- Go right ahead.

What excuse do we give?

- Where are they?

- Who, Madame?

- The guests! Where are they?

- They left.

What got into them?

We were barely out 20 minutes.

They had enough to drink.

You don't just leave like that!

Why not stop them?

They looked scared. They ran out.

- Scared?

- Scared of what?

I'm Your Monsignor Dufour,

bishop of this diocese.

I'd like to speak with you.

What was that?

It's true. His Grace came

by before. I let him in...

Who's he kidding?

Will you get the hell out!

Out!

You let in strangers just like that?

He said he was a bishop.

And you believed him?

If we're out, beware of strangers.

Remember that!

Very well, Madame.

Come on, let's tidy up a bit.

I wonder why they were scared.

Thevenot's always scared.

The Embassy might know something.

Wait a bit. I bet they'll come back.

You're right.

Anyway, the day's ruined.

That's them.

You see? Do you believe me now?

- I don't understand.

- Shame on us.

It's nothing.

- Will you forgive us?

- Of course. lt's nothing serious.

Won't you have a seat?

Dear Madame,

haven't we met before?

Quite possibly.

To what do we owe this honor?

It's quite simple.

I'd like to be your gardener.

- Excuse me?

- Your gardener, yes.

Tend your garden... the vegetables,

the flowers, the lawn.

- You do need a gardener?

- Yes, we do.

Then I'm asking for the position.

- But, Your Grace...

- Don't be surprised.

The Church has changed,

you know.

You've heard of worker priests?

The same goes for bishops.

- You know about gardening?

- I should think so.

I spent my childhood

in a large house...

something like this one.

My parents... God rest their souls,

they both died violent deaths.

My parents had a fine gardener.

I learned everything from him.

- Your parents died violent deaths?

- Yes, arsenic poisoning.

Who did it?

We never found out.

How much do you want?

Union rates. No more, no less.

But our ex-gardener

wasn't unionized.

Maybe so, but I insist

on doing this properly.

So, is the answer yes?

Very well.

- When will you start?

- Now. lf you'd show me the garden...

This way.

Excuse me...

You have grass in your hair.

It's nothing.

- Shall we?

- Indeed.

See you later, Madame.

- What will you ladies have?

- Three teas.

- Milk or lemon?

- Lemon for me.

Me, too.

Some milk, please.

I can't stand the sight

of that musician.

Which one?

The cellist.

- Why? You don't like the cello?

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