All language subtitles for Agatha.Christies.Poirot.S03E06.The.Tragedy.at.Marsdon.Manor.720p.BluRay.HEVC.x265.sharpysword

Damn pests.

Aah!

Jack?

I'm here, darling,
I'm here.

It's all right, Susan.

I just stumbled, that's all.

You shouldn't be out here.

You know what Dr. Bernard said.

So soon after the operation.

Yes, I know what
Dr. Bernard said --

stay inside,
get plenty of sleep.

Well, that may be good advice
for a tortoise, Susan...

but not for --

Oh, damn this infernal ulcer.

Darling, you're still weak.

It'll mend itself.

It just takes time.

You've just got to
learn to be patient.

What is it?

Susan?

It's up there again.

That face!

You heard it
that time, Jack.

Don't tell me
you didn't hear it.

That mad, horrible cackling.

She was up there --

up there like before!

Laughing!

Well, this is it.
What was his name again?

Naughton --
Samuel James Naughton.

Welcome to my hotel.

This is the greatest day
of my life.

Let me take your bags.

Thank you, M. Naughton.

We received your letter
this morning,

and as you see,
we came straight here.

I've got two of my best rooms

all ready and waiting
for you, gentlemen.

Thank you, M. Naughton.

Now, in your letter
you stated that

three farm workers
have been poisoned,

the syringe of the doctor
has gone missing,

and that it is only I,
Hercule Poirot,

who can solve the mystery.

That's right, sir --
but there's plenty of time.

How about
a nice pot of tea first?

Oh, that's very kind.

You don't do sandwiches at all,
do you?

M. Naughton,
in a matter of murder,

there is never
the time to lose.

The facts of this case,
if you please?

Right you are, sir --
it's all here.

The first 200 pages anyway.

"The Needle in the Haystack,

A new murder mystery
by Clarissa Naughton."

I use a woman's name.

Seems to help them sell better.

It's a corker of a plot,

only I've got myself into a bit
of a stew with the ending.

So I thought,
I'll drop him a line.

Perhaps he'll come
and sort it out for me.

So I said to my wife,
you can but ask.

And blow me down,
here you are.

I did mention it was a book
in the letter.

Oh, Hastings.

Mon Dieu!

125 miles, Hastings, we come on
a wild gooseberry hunt.

And now we have missed
our last train

and we cannot leave until
the morning.

Just... sacre!

Cheer up, Poirot.

Plenty of things to do
to while away the --

I say!
That looks like fun.

Come on, Poirot.

Genuine death masks
of local murderers.

I say, this is interesting.

Apparently, they got them by
taking actual wax impressions

of the killers' faces
after their execution.

Pretty grisly stuff, eh?

Well, I find it most curious,
Hastings --

this English passion for
perusing a collection of

the glorified scarecrows.

So far, I have not seen one
likeness that is truly accurate.

Hastings.

I'm sorry, sir,

we're just closing,
I'll have to ask you to leave.

Are you coming, Hastings?

Locking up time, I'm afraid.

-Yes, but --
-This way, please, sir.

Sir?

Never quite as realistic
in the flesh,

somehow, are they?

Any pain there?

No.

Well, I don't think there's
any serious damage,

but for goodness sake,
be more careful, Jonathan!

You know, these things
can perforate.

And it's not just
a question of diet.

Any stress or exertion
is strictly taboo.

Instances of post-operative
erosion can --

All right, thank you, Geoffrey,
here endeth the lesson.

Now, why don't you join us
for dinner?

Ah!

Will you be wanting a table
in the restaurant at all?

We do stop serving at 9:00.

Thanks.

I'm actually here to see
some friends.

I'll be dining with them
tonight, up at Marsdon Manor.

Oh, yes,
I know it, sir.

Well, have a good evening.

Ah, Mr. Poirot!

You worked it all out now,
my whodunit?

No, M. Naughton,

I did not give another thought
to your whodunit.

The brain of Hercule Poirot

is like a finely tuned engine
of a motorcar.

It does not run on
the cheap, low-grade fuel.

Not to worry.

Give you something to read
in bed.

I'll just get your keys for you.

Oh, someone just back
from Africa?

Kenya, actually.

Just a small present
for someone.

If you'll excuse me.

Monsieur.

Ah, thank you.

I picked it up
in one of the markets.

It was rather well done.

Something another artist
would appreciate.

And it's actually supposed to be
some sort of talisman.

You know, evil spirits of
the departed,

all that hokum.

I'm sorry,
have I said something?

Oh, Andrew --
I don't think you've met

Geoffrey Bernard,
my medic.

And this is Captain Black,

an old family friend,
just over from East Africa.

Oh, really?
Where were you stationed?

In Kenya,
near Lake Victoria.

Shall we go in, darling?

Doctor?

Oh, I have a cousin in Nairobi.

Ah, we are just about to have
dinner, Miss Rawlinson.

Won't you join us?

Thank you, Mr. Maltravers.

The books are still in
a bit of a mess, I'm afraid.

Well, perhaps you could
join us later.

It's as though
she's mocking me.

And then, just as suddenly,
it stops.

As if I completely
imagined it all.

So, let me get this clear.

What you're saying is,
out there in the garden,

there's the ghost
of a dead girl,

up in a tree.

Well, the story is that

50 or so years ago,
a young, teenaged girl

killed herself
here in these grounds.

She'd been jilted by a lover
or some such thing.

Anyway, she climbed to the top
of that massive cedar out there,

and threw herself off.

And over the years,

people in the village...

Well, you know how these
superstitions take root.

In my experience of these cases,

a lot of it is
auto-suggestive.

People believe

that they've witnessed some sort
of paranormal --

Dr. Bernard, I know what I saw.

Uh, I'm just off to
the bank now, then.

I'll see you later.

Danvers.

Chilly morning.

Morning, sir.

Finally, throughout
the United Kingdom,

preparations are
nearing completion

for the national
civil defense exercise

called by His Majesty's
government for this Wednesday.

The prime minister...

Ah, Poirot.
Sleep well?

Like a top, Hastings.

I am turning and spinning
all of the night.

And then,
at 3:00 in the morning,

h� l�, the ultimate
desperation.

Ah, M. Naughton.

This really is incroyable.

There is such a tangle of
the confused threads,

I admit surrender.

Everyone has the alibi
that is unbreakable.

Who could possibly have
committed the murders?

I know,
that's what stumped me.

I seem to have backed myself
into a corner this time,

and I can't get out.

Not to worry.

Was the accommodation all right?

No, M. Naughton.

The accommodation
was all wrong.

Oh.

The duck-feather pillows --

it feels as if the ducks
are still in them.

Looks as if Captain Black didn't
enjoy his stay much either.

Comment?

Booked in for a full week
last night,

paid up in advance.

And now this morning,
he's gone.

Perhaps he was frightened away

by ghosts.

Now, then, breakfast.

How about a nice kipper?
They're fresh today.

My tisane, two slices of bread,
toasted on one side only,

if you please.

Ghosts, did you say?

Well, yes, haunted house,
Marsdon Manor,

where he went last night.

They say it's full of them.

You have seen them yourself?

Well, no, not personally
I haven't, of course.

How do you know
they are fresh?

Sorry?

The kippers.

Oh, yes, sir.

Oh, they're fresh, all right.

We get them delivered
twice a week from Grimsby.

So, it is the place of
the untold evil.

Crawling with the spirits of
the living dead.

Grimsby?

Marsdon Manor.

M. Naughton,
my breakfast if you please.

We both have
the urgent train to catch.

Is Mr. Maltravers
still outside?

I need to have a word with him.

I suppose he must be.

Is it 11:00 already?

He's usually come in
for his pills by now.

Madame!
It's Mr. Maltravers.

I think you'd better
come, quick.

Come on, move along!

What is it now?

It's an emergency!

Shift yourself.

Allez, allez.

Don't you come that, matey.

You just move back.

Hold on.

Isn't that Hercule Poirot?
Right on our doorstep.

Nothing's been touched, sir.

That's just how I found him.

Thank you.

The doctor warned us all
it could happen.

That wretched ulcer
could rupture,

cause internal bleeding.

He must have
choked on the blood.

If only he'd listened,
taken a little advice.

Fate can be so cruel at times.

M. Danvers...

you say that you discovered
the body at 11:00.

Now, before this,

when was the last time
that you saw him alive,

your employer?

About half past 9:00.

He just plonked himself on
the old stone seat by the hedge.

He often went there for
a little snooze after breakfast.

The stone seat.

His poor, young wife.

So heartbreaking.

They hadn't even been
married two years.

Met at one of them society
parties up in London.

Real whirlwind romance.

If ever two people were in love.

And the other lady?

Miss Rawlinson?

Oh, she goes back a lot longer.

She'd been his secretary, oh,
must have been 20 years.

Well, "secretary" --

she practically
ran his affairs for him.

He wasn't the most organized
of gentlemen.

Terrible sight, though.

There's something about
that look in his eyes.

Almost as if he'd seen a ghost.

Yes.

Come along, my dear,
take one of these.

Eh bien, regardons, regardons.

Ah, voil�.

What've you found?

What I was looking for.

I don't see anything --

Oh, look at that.

Un moment, un moment.
Qu'est-ce que c'est?

Ah, there are more.

Looking puzzled, Poirot?

Can't see your problem.

Poor chap had
a stomach condition.

You heard what the ambulance man
said, internal hemorrhage.

Plain as day,
caused him to choke to death.

Mais certainement, Hastings,

that is the conclusion
most obvious.

But perhaps it is too obvious.

You noticed, of course,
the faint ridges in the grass.

Ridges?

And you cannot have
failed to notice

the mud across
the back of his shoes.

You put those two facts
together, Hastings,

and you'll reach the conclusion
that is most disturbing.

The body of the dead man

was dragged physically
from the stone seat

to the foot of the tree.

Good lord.

I think it is time
that we telephone

the Chief Inspector Japp
at Scotland Yard.

We were in
the south of France,

two months ago.

That's when it got really bad.

We had to cut short our holiday,

rush back
so they could operate.

They said, so long as he rested,
took things easy,

there was every chance he'd make
a full recovery.

But you couldn't keep Jack
indoors like that, all day long.

He'd suffocate, go mad.

My dear, do you think it's w--

It was her!
I know it.

She killed him.

"She," Mme. Maltravers?

I think it would be best
if you all left now.

She's still in
a state of shock.

Up there, in the tree.

That awful, laughing woman.

That's what he saw.

That's what...

frightened him to death.

Life insurance policy, Poirot.

�50,000!

That is indeed a great amount
of money, Chief Inspector.

Ask yourself, Poirot...

man insures his life
for a hefty sum like this.

His health takes
a sudden turn for the worse.

He becomes a burden
on his poor young wife.

He might decide
life's not worth living anymore.

He's more use to her dead
than alive.

Suicide?

Hmm!
Insurance fraud!

It's certainly
worth considering.

Well, the boys
from the insurance company

have been doing
their homework,

and it seems that
our Mr. Maltravers'

business affairs
have been going through

rather a sticky patch
of late.

As things stood when he died, he
was on the verge of bankruptcy.

No, no, no, no,
no, merci.

Now, that would give him
a pretty powerful motive

to engineer his own death,
pay off his debts,

and make sure Mrs. Maltravers

was left well provided for.

Tell me,
Chief Inspector Japp,

how is M. Maltravers
supposed to have taken his life,

when there are no signs of
the violence,

no injuries of any kind
on the outside,

and there is no poison

that can fill the mouth of a man
with the blood?

Well, presumably,
the postmortem will tell us

if it was the ulcer.

Yes, that'll take
a couple of days yet.

We've got to get a pathologist
over from Norwich.

Of course, we mustn't forget
Captain Black.

Now, he left
in a bit of a hurry.

I hope you've got your lads
on the lookout for him,

Chief Inspector.

Yes, we circulated
a full description

to all the major seaports.

Although, of course,
it's not really the --

You seem to know
a lot about all this, sir.

Crime and detection,
Chief Inspector,

are a special hobby of mine,

as Mr. Poirot here
will tell you.

Now, I've drawn up a little list
of the principal suspects

which I think you'll find
very useful.

Thank you.

M. Naughton,
perhaps you would oblige us

with a little more of your
most illustrious applesauce.

Certainly!

Thank you.

So, what do you reckon, then?

If it wasn't suicide,
and it wasn't natural causes?

Surely, you don't believe
all this hogwash

about ghosts
and haunted trees.

I believe, mon ami, that there
is at work here some great evil.

In what shape or form,
we shall soon discover.

Sometimes, they walk
in their sleep, no?

And like the misdeeds
of the past,

they return to haunt us.

You think I'm mad...
out of my mind.

What I said before --

No, no, no, Mme. Maltravers.

Like you,
I also believe that there was,

in the garden, something...

that struck the terror into
the heart of your poor husband.

It wasn't only the garden,
Mr. Poirot.

There was something else.

A couple of weeks ago,

we were just getting ready
to go to bed.

Jack was in the bathroom.

I'd just taken
my sleeping pill.

I turned to the mirror
to brush my hair, and...

It was her blood!

I know it was her blood.

Tell me, madame...

when your husband went
for his walk in the garden,

you observed him
from the window?

I saw him go out.

Then he disappeared from my view

round the other side
of the house.

I was working on a watercolor
at the south lawns.

And he used to go and sit in
front of the old yew hedge.

On the west side of the house?

Mm.

And the secretary to your
husband, Mlle. Rawlinson?

Uh, she went to the bank,
at about 9:30,

and returned at 11:00.

I'd just finished my painting.

I think I was just
washing the brushes through

when she came back in
and asked to see Jack.

That's when Danvers
came running across the lawn.

I'm sorry, Mr. Poirot.

-I'm sorry.
-Madame?

National civil defense day.

Is it an emergency?

The doctor does have rather
a lot of house calls

later this morning.

S'il vous pla�t, madame,

say to him
it is Hercule Poirot.

I think that he will see me.

Doctor?

There's a gentleman outside

suffering from
"erkul poirot."

He seems to think
it's quite serious.

Oh!
Yes, thank you, Margaret.

Show him through.

Thank you.

-Mr. Poirot.
-Monsieur le docteur.

I would like to introduce you,
if I may, to my associate,

Captain Hastings.

How do you do?

For the children.
Help yourself.

Oh! Thank you.

Dr. Bernard,
in your expert opinion,

how dangerous was it,

the stomach condition
of M. Maltravers?

I'm afraid I'm not in
the fortune-telling business,

Mr. Poirot.

Of course, we all knew there was
a risk of complications.

There always is.

But he was a very
hardy type, Jonathan.

Very strong constitution.

Shouldn't have had any problems.
He really shouldn't.

Ah, what do I know?

45 years' medical experience,

sometimes doesn't amount
to a jot in the end.

You'll rot your teeth, you know.

Do you also prescribe the drugs
for Mme. Maltravers?

Oh, yes, from time to time.

Sleeping pills,
that sort of thing.

She frequently --

That's odd.

Something is wrong,
Dr. Bernard?

Chloroform.

Five fluid ounce bottle.

It's gone.

Hello, Mast--

Oh, Mr. Poirot.

No, I'm afraid she isn't.

She went into town,

to the civil defense meeting
at the parish hall.

About an hour ago.

The civil defense meeting.

Come, Hastings.

The time may be of
the essence!

Excuse me, madame,
excuse me,

could you tell me please,
where is the parish hall?

Merci.

Vite, mon ami!

Hastings.

Noxious gases.

In the event of
a sudden emergency,

make sure the mask is secured
by fastening the strap

of the back --

Ahem.

Um...

Excuse me, madame.

Mme. Maltravers, are you here?

Mme. Maltravers!

The gas mask, quick,

remove it at once!

Excuse me, excuse me.
Clear the way, please!

Clear the way, please.

Excuse me,
excuse me, please.

Excuse me, excuse me.

Some smelling salts
or some brandy.

And fetch at once the doctor.

Captain Black!

Quick, Hastings!

He must not leave!

In a bit of a rush,
aren't we, sir?

It's all right, madame.
It is all right.

Sir?

Hastings, I think
it would be wise

for you to travel back
with Mme. Maltravers

until she is quite recovered
from this ordeal.

Oh, yes, of course.

-Madame.
-Thank you.

See you back at the hotel.

Oui.

Why did you try and run away
back there, Captain Black?

I wasn't running away.

I was running downstairs
to see if I could help.

I didn't fill this
blasted thing with poison.

My God,

I wouldn't harm so much as
a hair of her head.

I've done nothing wrong.

Well, in that case, perhaps
you'd like to tell us

why you vanished like a ghost

on the morning
Mr. Maltravers' death,

where you've been
for the last 24 hours,

and how you came to turn up
again here today

as an attempt was being made on
his poor young widow's life?

Captain Black.

If you will not answer
the questions

of the Chief Inspector Japp,

perhaps you will answer
one of mine.

How long have you been in love
with Mme. Maltravers?

This is preposterous!

Now, come, come, come,
come, monsieur.

The truth, if you please.

How could I stay here?

How could I stay when every
second was agony for me?

Seeing the two of them
like that.

I thought I'd managed
to get over it.

But when I saw her again,
I knew it was no good.

I was just so ashamed of
my feelings.

I caught the train back to
Tilbury next morning,

planning to return to
East Africa

and put it all behind me.

Then when I read of his death

in the newspaper, naturally,
I had to come back.

Yes, of course...
the newspaper!

Tell me, Captain Black.

The night you arrived
in the hotel,

you had with you a parcel,

is that not so,
wrapped in the newspaper?

Yes, it was an African carving,

a kind of talisman that I picked
up while traveling in Kenya.

Yes, and you said,

as I now recall, it was
a present for someone?

For Susan,
and that's right.

I'm afraid it might have
unnerved her rather.

She's slightly superstitious
about that kind of thing.

Is this relevant, Poirot?

Relevant, Chief Inspector?

Yes, for we have now
found the key

to the death of
M. Jonathan Maltravers.

The colors really are
delightful, I must say.

You really have a special
talent, Mrs. Maltravers.

Thank you.

Look, are you sure
you're all right now?

It's been such a ghastly ordeal.

Some rest and quiet, I think,
is what she needs the most.

She's in safe hands,
aren't you, my dear?

Captain Hastings!

I'd like you to have this,
for all your help today.

I say, that's awfully kind
of you. Are you sure?

I can't stand
another night of it --

on my own in the house
with her.

Miss Rawlinson?
I don't understand.

There was
something between them,

once upon a time.

Years before I met him.

Of course it was all over
as far as Jack was concerned,

but I don't know.

With all this,
I just don't know anymore.

All of a sudden,
she scares me.

I see.

Come back and have dinner
with us tonight, please?

You and Mr. Poirot.

I'd just feel safer.

So, what's happened?

Have they arrested
Captain Black?

The fog, it begins
to clear, Hastings.

But there are yet many questions
that remain unanswered.

So, I come here
for the early lunch.

The Salade Ni�oise will prove
most nourishing

for the little gray cells.

So, what have you found out?
Was Maltravers murdered or not?

Oh, yes, Hastings,
he was murdered

most cruelly
and in the cold blood.

What about Mrs. Maltravers?

I wonder who put the chloroform
in her gas mask.

Ah, yes, the mask.

How is Mme. Maltravers now?

She is quite recovered
from her ordeal?

Yes, sort of.

Actually, she's asked us both
out there to dinner tonight.

To the manor.

She still seems to be worried
about that secretary, Miss --

Hastings,
is this not the picture

painted by Mme. Maltravers
on the morning of the tragedy?

Yes.

My worst suspicions
are now confirmed.

Regarde, Hastings --
it is all here.

This picture
tells the whole story.

You do not see?

Sorry, Poirot.

Just looks like a painting of
the garden to me.

The eggs.

Yes, the broken eggs.

It must have been there.

Ah, why did
I not see before?

Mr. Poirot?
Inspector Japp on the phone,

from the local
police headquarters.

Sounds as if
the plot's thickening.

Ah, Poirot.

Thought you might be
interested to hear

the rather startling results
of that postmortem.

According to this,
what actually killed

Jonathan Maltravers was --

Now, how the devil
did you know that?

We have not a moment
to waste, Chief Inspector.

Tell me, do you still have
stationed at the manor house

the constable
outside in the garden?

Bon.
Then listen to me carefully.

You must give to him
the following instructions.

Incidentally, M. Naughton,

the killer is the explorer
who is bed-ridden.

-Really?
-Mais oui.

He fires into the fruitcake
a poison dart

from his window upstairs.

Good lord, I think you may have
solved it for me!

And you, my friend, can repay
with a small service for me.

Susan, I...

I'm so sorry about...

I had to come back.

Do you understand?

It was very sweet of you,
Captain.

Seems to be blowing up
a bit of a gale out there.

Maybe, Hastings,
the strong gales,

they are to be expected
at this time of year.

Strong enough
to waken the dead.

No, no, no, madame,
seat yourself, please.

Please be seated.

It is nothing.

Voil�.

Oh, my God.

My God, what's happening?

It is the wind, madame.

Nothing more.

No.

No, those doors were locked.

I locked them both
before dinner.

I distinctly remem--

Be still, Mme. Maltravers.

Jack?

Oh, my God.

No.

No, it can't be.

Madame, your hand,

it is bleeding.

No!

No, Mr. Poirot...

Jack's blood.

My husband's blood

is on my hands.

Because...

I killed him.

Lights, Hastings.

Lights, Chief Inspector.

You have heard enough,
Chief Inspector Japp?

I am afraid it's all over,
Mrs. Maltravers.

Entre.

You performed your part
most splendidly...

M. Naughton.

I will be able to tell
my grandchildren

I helped Mr. Hercule Poirot

solve one of his
most baffling cases.

Merci, monsieur.

Right, come on, Baines,

let's get her out of here.

Susan.

You did this for me?

For you?

But I don't understand!

This mask?

A wax cast, mademoiselle,

taken from the face of
the deceased.

A device most macabre, huh?

But I fear it was necessary
for the success

of this little masquerade.

But, the blood?

A little red paint

that I pressed into her hand
a few seconds before.

In fact, it was
the same red paint

that she herself used

to produce the blood on
the mirror in her bedroom.

She put --

Oh, yes.

Just as she invented
the face in the cedar tree.

Of course,
there was no face.

There was no laughter.

The wind paints the pictures
in her leaves,

and the screechings of the rook
plays the tricks upon the ears.

The seeds of fear,
once they are sown,

begin to grow
in the imagination.

But why?

Simplement...

to unsettle her husband,

to drive him to his grave.

Remember, mademoiselle,
that his condition,

it is still weak
after the operation, yes?

She knows that any sudden upset

or shock could be most
disastrous to his health.

Alors, voil�.

The insurance, it is paid out

and she has got rid of
the husband

she had married
only for his money.

Unfortunately, Mr. Maltravers
turned out to be rather stronger

than she had bargained for,

which was why she decided on

more drastic measures.

Ah, yes.

The little rook rifle.

Jack?

Mlle. Rawlinson,
you are at the bank,

M. Danvers at work
in another part of the garden

and so she took her chance.

The rook rifle,

with its tiny bullets,
was the murder weapon.

Parfait.

The bullet,
it is embedded in the brain,

and the effect,
it is complete.

The internal hemorrhage,
that is fatal.

For the moment, she conceals
the weapon in the hedge,

and in so doing,
she disturbs

the nest and the eggs
of the black bird.

Her plan to remove it later

is foiled because there was
keeping watch in the garden

a police constable.

The body, she then drags to
the foot of the tree

to make us believe he had seen
something up there,

which brought upon
his attaque tragique.

Ah, yes,

with the arrival
of Hercule Poirot,

she starts to panic

because she knows that
I suspect the murder.

And so she stages
the clumsy affair

with the chloroform
in the gas mask,

to make us believe that

her own life
was under threat.

All of this

to divert our suspicions
of the most cruel,

the most brutal murder

of her poor husband.

Sweet-looking
girl like that.

Who'd have thought she could
come up with such a grisly idea?

Ah, but, Chief Inspector,
the idea did not come from her.

It came from her admirer
of the most ardent,

Captain Black.

You don't mean they were
both in on the whole thing?

Oh, no, no, Hastings,
the newspaper.

Someone just back from Africa?

That was wrapped around
the present of Captain Black,

on the front page
there was a story

about a farmer
in East Africa

who had killed himself
in exactly the same manner --

with a rook rifle
in the mouth.

You did not observe
the headline?

Ah, but Hercule Poirot,
he sees everything,

and he forgets nothing.

And what about the picture?

The shadows, Hastings.

They were all cast from
the right to the left.

-You do not see?
-Sorry, Poirot.

Madame! I think you'd
better come, quick!

Now, if she had truly
painted that picture

in the morning before midday
as she had claimed,

they would have all been cast
from the left to the right.

Ah! So, she'd already painted
that picture beforehand

to give herself an alibi.

C'est �a.

Well, I suppose
we better be leaving,

catch our train.

Oh, no, no, no, no,
Chief Inspector!

It is still early,

and the exhibits here are quite
remarkable, n'est-ce pas?

To be immortalized in such
a fashion unique.

Ah, quel honneur.

Now, I wonder what is
around here?

Oh, very impressive.

Quite incredible.

It's a masterpiece.

True work of art.

That's his curly hair to a T.

Even got the little
dimples on his cheeks.

Look, a real piece of
craftsmanship, wouldn't you say?