All language subtitles for LOVE_IN_A_COLD_CLIMATE_7_engx

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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