Can't you understand?
It's our future and Belgium's future that I'm thinking of.
The Catholic Church has narrowed your mind, Marianne,
just as it has my mother's.
But don't you see, Paul?
You keep asking me to choose between you and my faith.
I can't believe what you're saying, Marianne.
You mean fresh ideas have no place in your mind?
My God. We're into a new century,
but you are stuck in the last, just like your damned clergy.
Attacking the church won't help Belgium, Paul.
It'll turn the people against you.
I don't attack it!
I want it to open its eyes.
And as my wife, the wife of a government minister,
you should support me in that.
I married you for love, Paul,
not to advance your political career.
Marianne, come back here!
Marianne!
Well, Poirot, how does it feel being back in Brussels again after so many years?
In the eye of my mind, Chief Inspector,
I have never left.
Place is bound to have changed, though.
Naturellement.
But we are not here for the memory lane of Poirot, mon ami, non?
We come for the paying of the tributes
to your good self.
To be made a Compagnon de la Branche d'Or,
it is the highest honor my country can bestow.
Very kind of Belgium, yes.
But all I've done over the years is my job.
Not at all, Chief Inspector.
Time and again, ever since the Abercrombie forgery case,
you have helped the Belgian police.
And my country, it is grateful.
Pity Emily couldn't come.
Still, I think she's right.
Brussels is a far cry from Isleworth.
Her loss is my gain.
It is an honor to deputize for Madame Japp.
Poirot.
Chantalier.
Ah.
Mon dieu, 20 years, and you look the same.
Is this fair, mon ami, eh?
- Oh. - Oh, pardon.
You know the Chief Inspector Japp, of course.
We work together often.
Congratulations on your new appointment, sir,
Commissaire de Police.
However did you manage, sir, when he went off to England?
He wasn't always so clever, Chief Inspector.
You remember Paul Deroulard?
I remember that it was not I
who made the mistakes in that case.
It was everyone else.
The old modesty lives on.
Paul Deroulard died of natural causes, Hercule.
The verdict of the court is there for all time.
Mm-hmm.
And it is wrong.
Tell you what.
I'm a disinterested party.
Let me be the judge of this.
It was just before the war, Chief Inspector.
His death was reported to the police in the...
Ah.
That was the first mistake.
The Deroulard case began two years earlier,
when his wife Marianne fell down the stairs to her death.
An accident, Poirot.
The Belgian philosopher himself Georges Tabineau once said to me, he said,
"Poirot,
there is no such thing as an accident."
However, we shall let that pass.
On the night of his death,
Paul Deroulard was entertaining some friends.
Seated around the table were Virginie Mesnard.
Next to her, the distinguished friend of Paul,
le Comte du St. Alard.
At the head of the table,
the mother to Paul, Madame Deroulard.
And at her side, her confidant and advisor,
an old family friend, Gaston Beaujeu.
- It's a lovely wine. - Good.
Virginie was cousin to Marianne,
the dead wife of Paul.
New language law, Paul, what exactly does it say?
From now on, all commands in the army
must be given in Flemish as well as French.
All I pray is that you and your friends in government
have no plans for the mass to be said in Flemish, Paul.
Now I see it.
This law is just the tip of the iceberg.
Your late wife always said that one day
you'd get your claws into the church.
Absurd.
Sit down, St. Alard, before you make a fool of yourself.
The press knows you're against the Catholic Church, Paul.
For your own sake, I forbid you to say any more.
And given half the chance,
you'd appease the Kaiser as well.
Then I suppose we'd all be speaking German.
Another chocolate, Monsieur Beaujeu?
After dinner, it was left to Gaston Beaujeu,
in his customary role as mediator,
to soothe the troubled waters.
Thank you.
You and St. Alard have been friends too long
to fall out over politics.
He lives in the past.
A divided Belgium, Gaston,
Flemings to the North, Walloons to the south,
that's our history, not our future.
But if Germany attacks,
where will he stand then?
In the front line, my friend, have no fear.
He would take them on single-handed.
At around midnight, the guests departed.
Madame retired to her nightly devotions,
and the Deroulard household slept.
All except Paul, a slave to insomnia,
who returned to his study in order to work.
Paul had a reputation for his austerity and discipline.
He did, however, have two vices;
the pursuit of his career
and chocolates.
My duties as a junior police officer
involved my regular attendance at the court of the coroner.
The death of Paul Deroulard was treated
by all those concerned as a matter of routine.
Indeed not, Your Honor.
Paul Deroulard...
Those giving evidence saw no reason to question the death of Paul,
and at first, neither did I.
Being the victim of foul play...
The principal witness in the case was my superior,
Superintendent Boucher.
... foul play might have been the case?
Nothing whatsoever, monsieur.
We searched the house and found nothing untoward.
You may step down.
Ladies and gentlemen, I am more than satisfied
that Paul Deroulard's death, though a tragedy, of course,
was due to heart failure.
And I give my verdict accordingly.
That can't be right!
You have further evidence, Mademoiselle Mesnard?
I tell you, he can't just have died.
Well, why do you take everyone at their word?
I would advise you, mademoiselle,
to guard your remarks when addressing me.
Forgive her, monsieur,
but she is much affected by the death.
We will look after her.
My colleague Chantalier and I
felt that the case was being dismissed too readily.
And although we were only there as observers,
we decided it was our duty
to raise the matter with Superintendent Boucher.
Superintendent Boucher,
one moment, if you please.
Chantalier and myself, we would be very happy
to investigate further the Deroulard case.
What for, may I ask?
Oh, the outburst of the young lady in court.
Can--can we ignore that?
And also, the victim, he was a government minister.
That is precisely why you will put it out of your mind, Poirot.
- Superintendent... - The case is closed, gentlemen.
But it was an invitation most unexpected
which ensured that the case was not closed.
Ah, Hercule.
- Henri, bonjour, ça va? - Mm-hmm.
Why have you kept it a secret from me?
What are you talking about, Henri?
The young lady I spoke to you about,
she's at table five.
Ah.
Merci.
She asked for you specially.
By name?
By mustache.
Hercule Poirot?
At your service, Mademoiselle....?
Virginie Mesnard.
Mademoiselle Mesnard.
Would you take a seat, please?
Merci.
I was in court, mademoiselle,
when you expressed a certain doubt
concerning the death of Monsieur Paul Deroulard.
How can he have died of heart failure?
He was such a robust man.
And that is all upon which you base your doubt,
his apparent good health?
And some feminine instinct, monsieur.
You believe in such a thing?
Perhaps.
Why is it that you come to me?
A friend of mine is a secretary at the local paper.
The editor mentions your name often.
"A spark in the otherwise dull embers of the police force,"
he says.
Ah.
He's a man of perception.
Will you help me, monsieur?
Et bien, mademoiselle, I have been told that the case, it is closed.
But I am due some leave,
which I shall take.
A difficult smile to resist, eh, Hercule?
Yes, indeed.
Oh, if you think that the young lady
and not the case attracted me, you do me a wrong, Claude.
Yet you still wear the trinket she gave you.
What, this?
Bien sûr.
If you think that Poirot
could not see beyond that smile most bewitching
and that her charm was such that...
Toujours la femme, Chief Inspector.
You have a phrase in English which means the same?
Well, nothing as crisp as yours, sir.
We just tend to say something like,
"Mark my words, there'll be a woman at the bottom of it somewhere."
Hercule, it's the Comte du St. Alard.
Ah, Monsieur le Comte, bonsoir.
Will you join us?
Have you come to interfere in yet more business that doesn't concern you?
To ruin a few more reputations?
As mayor of this city, St. Alard,
your reputation has never been better.
No thanks to this meddling upstart.
I swore to myself, Poirot,
the next time I saw you,
no matter when it was, the very next time, I would...
Monsieur le Comte.
If that's the Belgian aristocracy,
it's about time you had a revolution.
He was not entirely unprovoked, Chief Inspector.
I was there, Poirot. You didn't do anything.
But you were not there all those years ago, mon ami,
when I gave him cause to resent me.
This, um, Compagnon de la Branche d'Or they're awarding me, Poirot...
- Ouiais?
I mean, what exactly is a Branche d'Or?
It is a golden branch of an olive tree, mon ami.
In Greek mythology, he who carried it became invincible.
Very useful in our line of work, n'est-ce pas, Chief Inspector?
Do we know who's presenting it yet?
By tradition, it must be a fellow compagnon,
but who it will be is yet undecided.
The wife wanted royalty, of course, but I'm not fussy.
Ah!
The Deroulard house.
It has changed very little.
The refusal of Superintendent Boucher
to further investigate the death had angered me.
So it was that in the company of Virginie,
I began my own inquiries.
On arriving at the Deroulard house,
I met for the first time Madame Deroulard.
You must introduce the young man, Virginie.
She doesn't bring home many friends, Monsieur...
Hercule Poirot, madame.
I am a policeman.
I've seen too much of the police lately,
Monsieur Poirot.
And all have believed that your son,
he died of heart failure, madame?
I see the work of your hand in this, Virginie.
Forgive me, madame, but for Paul's sake,
I couldn't live with my doubts.
Perhaps I might be able to put her mind at rest, madame,
when perhaps I have seen the study
and spoken with the servants?
Who is this lady, the wife of Monsieur Deroulard?
Yes. Marianne, my cousin.
She died two years ago,
an accident here in the house.
Paul never really got over it.
So he kept her in the desk?
Out of sight, out of mind, perhaps?
Paul and his mother had a permanent tussle.
I never really quite understood.
Paul would hide the photograph in the drawer.
His mother would bring it out again.
Oh, Monsieur Beaujeu,
I'd like you to meet Hercule Poirot.
Gaston is our neighbor.
- Monsieur. - Monsieur.
I would urge you to be mindful of Madame Deroulard's feelings.
She has lost her son.
I shall be discretion itself.
But if a crime has been committed,
you will agree that justice must be served.
Ah.
But these were made by a guest at your table the other night,
le Comte du St. Alard.
Yes, he always brings a box when he visits.
And the night of the death of Paul Deroulard?
Yes, we had some with our coffee.
What color was the box at the table?
- I can't remember. - Pink.
Are you certain, monsieur?
It was not of the two colors,
the pink and the green, comme ça?
Oh, how curious. I wonder...
I just told you.
Both halves were pink.
Then, I suggest that there is somewhere a second box.
One with a green lid
and a pink base.
If anyone knew the whereabouts of the missing chocolate box,
it would be the Deroulard servants.
Virginie took me to meet them.
This is Denise, the cook, and Jeanette, the maid.
Mademoiselle.
Where is Francois, Denise?
I think he's taken the afternoon off, mademoiselle.
The chocolate box comprising the other two halves
had been removed by the 80-year-old butler, Francois.
That's the trouble with going back over crimes.
The evidence gets lost.
I agree that is usually the case,
but not this time, Chief Inspector.
The servant Francois had taken the box of chocolates
to give to a lady friend.
Over here, please, Chief Inspector,
between these two pillars.
- If we must. - Indeed we must.
I have promised most faithfully to Madame Japp
to bring her back the photographs.
Is this all right to take now?
That should do the trick, Poirot.
Bon.
Thank you.
Lady friend?
This Francois, you said he was nearly eighty.
Only an Englishman would see the contradiction there, mon ami.
I found them seated at a café, playing chess,
eating what was left of the chocolates.
And the fact they were still alive
told you their box wasn't poisoned.
Précisément.
Merci, madame.
But this is the same box of chocolates
that you handed around on the night of our tragedy.
The same box.
But with a different lid, n'est-ce pas?
I don't know.
Help yourself.
Ah, non, merci.
Tell me, monsieur,
have you ever had any disagreements with your employer?
Over what?
His easy ideas about religion,
his accommodation of the Flemish language?
I'm too old to quarrel over trivial matters, monsieur.
And yet, there was an argument over dinner, was there not,
between le Comte du St. Alard and his host?
Check.
St. Alard attacked my employer for being a liberal.
And Madame Deroulard?
His mother, she is also a liberal?
Sadly, no.
A good Catholic, monsieur,
devout like St. Alard.
Tell me, Francois,
does any of the household use poisons?
I do battle with the rats from time to time,
but not in the last three months.
And does anyone take the medications perhaps?
There are Madame's eye drops,
but would they be poisonous?
Your move.
Checkmate.
Bonjour, Hélène. Monsieur Ferraud, s'il vous plaît.
Merci.
C'est Monsieur Poirot.
Ah, Hercule.
Jean-Louis, bonjour, ça va?
Tell me this minute, what is between you
and this Virginie Mesnard?
Jean-Louis, your long nose will be the death of you.
Your safety is all that concerns me.
Thank you.
Jean-Louis, inside this envelope are crumbs of chocolate.
I want you to tell me by your analysis exactly what they contain,
and whether or not they contain poison.
Now, you're filling a regular prescription for Madame Deroulard?
For the eye drops?
- Atropine. - Atropine?
Now, could this atropine kill a man?
If drunk by the liter, perhaps.
Ah, the death of Monsieur Deroulard.
Oui. And the servant Francois
brings to you this prescription once a month?
That's right.
Although last week, their neighbor brought it.
Gaston Beaujeu?
Yes.
He required medication of his own.
I waited eagerly for the results of the analysis of Jean-Louis.
This was my first investigation as a private detective.
But my good friend Chantalier was about to remind me
that the day when Poirot would rule his own destiny
was yet to come.
Hercule!
I've been looking everywhere for you.
Why? There is a problem?
I give you my word, Hercule, he didn't hear it from me,
but Superintendent Boucher wants to see you.
En voiture.
Will I need earplugs?
I've had Madame Deroulard here.
She has friends in high places, Poirot,
Xavier St. Alard, for one.
He's likely to be the next mayor of Brussels
and, as such, could make my life extremely difficult.
Whereupon I will make yours even more so.
And what exactly have you found out, hmm?
Just so that we know.
It is my belief that Monsieur Paul Deroulard was poisoned,
and poisoned by a chocolate made by
the next mayor of this city.
God in heaven, man.
You don't just harass his friends.
You accuse him of murder.
I accuse no one...
yet.
Tell us, what did Boucher say?
Oh, about my findings?
- He was impressed. - Never.
I did not say favorably impressed.
Hercule, for your own sake,
- you've got to drop this. - Oh.
Please, Virginie, make him see sense.
I hope I haven't made things awkward for you.
Hercule?
Not at all.
Virginie...
Et bien, at 6:00, I have coming to my apartment
a friend of mine who is a chemist, huh?
He is going to tell me exactly what those chocolates contain.
If you are finished, would you come and meet him?
Yes? Bon.
This way.
Hercule.
Ouais?
I haven't told you how grateful I am for your help.
Oh, it is nothing.
But, uh, perhaps...
Perhaps this will say it for me.
Virginie.
Thank you.
Oh.
Virginie, you should not have.
You see, some people might have thought me mad.
Perhaps you did.
No.
But at least you gave me the benefit of the doubt.
Merci beaucoup.
Please.
- Hercule. - Ah.
Hercule, it is exactly as we thought.
- Uh-huh? - The crumbs you gave me...
- Yes? - Oh.
Ah, pardon, Jean-Louis Ferraud,
allow me to introduce you to Mademoiselle Virginie Mesnard.
Enchanté.
Thank you so much for everything you're doing to help me.
Diable.
Wait!
Wait, I am the police!
Wait!
Stop, you!
Monsieur Beaujeu, what's happening?
Explain yourself.
My heart, Poirot.
Pills. The waistcoat pocket.
Do not worry, monsieur.
We will get you to a hospital.
What was he after in your flat?
The envelope containing the crumbs of chocolate.
Which weren't there anyway.
Had your chemist friend done his analysis?
Oh, yes.
The crumbs contained a substance called trinitrin.
It is taken for the high blood pressure.
And Jean-Louis had made up an urgent prescription
for Gaston Beaujeu two days before the murder.
So you'd got him.
And what is more, Chief Inspector,
the taste of those pills is so vile,
that they were made of chocolate.
Wait a minute.
Why did Chantalier say
that you'd made a pig's ear of this one, then?
Because that is what I allowed him to believe.
Perhaps the time has now come to straighten the record.
Bonjour.
Poirot.
So this lot, they're all
Compagnon de la Branche d'Or, are they?
Each and every one a hero.
Not what you'd call young, are they?
Young at heart, perhaps.
Stand up.
Bienvenu Compagnon de la Branche d'Or.
I did not know that Gaston Beaujeu
had been made a Compagnon.
Oh, yes.
I look around this hall today,
and I see nothing but heroes.
Men who have made great sacrifices.
Today we honor an English policeman
for services beyond the call of duty.
And as he joins the ranks of the invincible few,
I proclaim James Harold Japp
a Compagnon de la Branche d'Or.
Vive Compagnon!
Vive le Compagnon.
Good evening.
Nice to see you.
Ah, congratulations, Chief Inspector.
It's an honor to be one of your select company, sir.
Don't forget our reunion dinners are quite something.
And you must tell Madame Japp we expect her here next time.
Non, merci. Ah!
Congratulations, Chief Inspector Japp.
Ah, c'est très élégant.
Come, let us have some food.
I think it's "help yourself" time, Poirot.
Oui.
Merci.
Not a bad chap, that Beaujeu, once you start talking.
No, I am sure of it.
But you had him down as a suspect at one stage.
Well, even the good chaps
can sometimes kill their fellow men, Chief Inspector.
I believe Paul Deroulard was poisoned
with trinitrin.
Pills that you take for high blood pressure.
Someone stole mine, Poirot.
From the house, from my coat, I can't be sure.
I would like to think that you're innocent, monsieur.
But you told to no one that the pills were missing.
And then you broke into my apartment,
presumably to steal the crumbs of chocolate,
evidence which might incriminate you.
I'm going to take you into my confidence, Poirot,
which you must promise to respect.
I give you my word, monsieur.
I work for Belgian intelligence.
And my present job is to find out
just who in the government would collaborate with Germany,
if she wages war.
So Paul Deroulard was not so much a friend
as a mine of information.
Unwittingly, yes.
Then let us hope that for his indiscretions,
he did not pay with his life.
He tells me he is a member of the secret service,
and then he makes me promise to keep secret this whole affair.
You see how he ties my hands?
En voiture.
How do I verify his story without breaking the confidence?
Well, at least he agrees with us that Paul was murdered.
Yes.
Whether or not by him is another matter.
He had the means but not the motive.
That is why we must dig deeper.
You know I would like to visit the château of St. Alard, huh?
But there is a problem.
Monsieur le Comte is always there.
There's one thing he'll always venture out for.
What?
The opera.
Thank you.
Ah, Virginie.
Take care of her, monsieur.
"Trinitrin, three times a day, Monsieur Gaston Beaujeu."
Found in the pocket of Xavier St. Alard.
Hercule, you're a genius.
Maybe so.
But to reopen the case, Superintendent Boucher will need
a confession from St. Alard himself.
Hercule, I'm not sure you'd allow me to do this,
but St. Alard holds me in high regard.
In fact, I...
You mean he's in love with you?
Oh, please don't think I return his affections, Hercule.
Far, far from it.
I believe you, Virginie.
Then why don't I persuade him to talk?
Oh, no.
No, Virginie, this man, he could be a murderer.
If you were there...
Ah.
The audacity of the plan of Virginie appealed to me very much.
That night, Francois had taken Madame Deroulard
to visit some friends.
The maid and the cook were therefore free for the evening.
Virginie had left the door
at the back of the house unlocked.
And the trap, it was ready to be sprung.
In spite of our differences,
Paul could be such an amusing man.
That was thoughtless of me.
I haven't mentioned his death since it happened,
and now is too early to do so.
Forgive me.
No, no, no. Xavier, you misunderstand.
You see,
I can't help thinking that his death was a just punishment.
Virginie,
I know the cause of his death troubles you.
But he died of heart failure. Nothing else.
Some people do anything for their faith, Xavier.
I admire that.
Suppose someone knew that Paul had plans
to limit the church's power in Belgium.
Would it be a sin to remove him?
To murder him?
Oh, but such people would never be seen as common murderers, though,
but as saviors.
Well, at least by the church, don't you agree?
Virginie, you say all this to comfort me, I know.
I had no right to expect such understanding.
Least of all from a member of his family.
What do you mean?
I'm the one responsible for his death, Virginie.
You killed him?
As surely as if I had fired a pistol at his heart.
Monsieur Poirot!
What in God's name are you doing here?
You break into his private apartment.
Now, for most men, that would be enough.
But not Poirot, oh, no.
Poirot then goes on to try to trick him into a confession!
His last words, Superintendent, before the return of Madame Deroulard, were,
"As surely as if I had fired a pistol at his heart."
Yes, Poirot, "As if."
As if, as if!
On the night Paul Deroulard died,
there was an argument at the table.
St. Alard believes that argument
led to the seizure that carried Paul off.
I believe that you yourself should question him further.
I do not need your advice on how to proceed, Poirot.
On the contrary, you need mine.
And you will begin by visiting Madame Deroulard
and apologizing to her
for all the distress you have caused.
Madame Deroulard.
I have come to apologize to you.
I should like you to stay, Virginie.
So...
you think my son was murdered.
I believe that your son was poisoned, madame,
by Xavier St. Alard.
Poisoned?
Would St. Alard use his own chocolates?
Are people so stupid?
Oh, yes, madame.
You would be surprised.
The stonemason, he murders with his hammer,
the cutler with his knife,
the sweet-maker with his soft centers.
I took some crumbs of chocolate from this box, madame.
May I?
Thank you.
They contained a substance called trinitrin,
a drug prescribed to your neighbor Gaston Beaujeu.
And you questioned him?
Oui, madame, and he told me that the pills,
they had been stolen.
And when I searched the château of St. Alard,
I found there the pill bottle, which was empty.
Finding is one thing.
Can you prove all this?
Tomorrow I have an appointment with a minister of justice,
and...
he cannot argue with the scientific analysis of Jean-Louis Ferraud.
And all from one little mistake.
Francois told me.
To do with chocolate boxes, I believe.
Oui, madame.
Having taken a few of the chocolates from one box,
poisoned them, and then put them back into another box,
the murderer replaced the lid incorrectly.
The green lid on the pink box.
Such details are always at the heart of a case, madame.
You said the green lid to the pink box.
Quite so.
Madame Deroulard,
in order that the wrong person does not go to the guillotine,
I beg of you, tell me once again.
What is the color of the lid,
and what is the color of the box?
My eyesight is not what is was, monsieur.
Your prescription for eye drops
should have told me of the great burden you carried.
For it was you, Madame Deroulard,
who killed your son.
Despite your failing eyesight,
you added the liquid trinitrin
from Beaujeu's pills to a sweet filling.
You then put this mixture into the chocolates from the study of Paul.
You replaced the glacé fruit
to conceal the lethal concoction within.
Having poisoned the chocolates which were to kill him,
you then made your only mistake...
The wrong lid
to the wrong box.
Having used the pills of Beaujeu,
you then placed the pill bottle, which was empty,
into the coat pocket of le Comte du St. Alard.
Why, madame?
To get it away from the house?
Don't worry.
I wouldn't let him die for my crime,
much as I dislike the man.
Why madame?
Why kill your own son?
Because of what he was doing to our country, Virginie,
and our church.
I pray, monsieur,
that no woman in the world need ever choose again
between love of God
and the love of her child.
But to take a life is a mortal sin, madame.
How can a woman of such conviction so deny her faith?
Paul was a murderer, monsieur.
She did not die from an accident.
Can't you understand?
It's our future and Belgium's future that I'm thinking of.
I married you for love, Paul,
not to advance your political career.
Marianne, come back here!
Marianne!
He knew I had seen him do it,
but we never spoke of it.
Each of us afraid to admit
he was capable of doing such a thing.
Ah, so instead, you taunt him by displaying the photograph.
Before I died, I had to see justice done.
My doctors tell me
I have no more than six months left in this world.
Will the truth wait six months, monsieur?
Perhaps longer, madame.
No, you must tell it.
Tell all, when I've gone.
Why didn't you?
Why leave it till now?
And why did Virginie say nothing?
She and I agreed that it would be my decision.
Paul Deroulard, he was a murderer.
His mother acted for the greater good of the country.
I admired her sacrifice, her...
moral courage.
Who does anything these days for the greater good?
At least I understand why St. Alard bears a grudge,
you trying to trap him like that.
Did you never make your peace with him?
Well, had I told him the reason why I suspected...
- Monsieur. - Hmm?
Ah, merci.
Non.
Had I told him the reason why I suspected him,
that I found the bottle of trinitrin in his coat pocket,
he might then have asked me who put it there.
Madame Deroulard.
I could not risk his curiosity.
I wrote to him, of course, apologizing for my behavior,
which was foolhardy, irresponsible.
And no doubt he agrees with that to this very day.
Claude, would you sit there, please?
Chief Inspector?
One of those things we have to live with in our profession.
Oui, bien sûr.
Ah!
- Jean-Louis. - Hercule.
Oh, mon ami.
To see you is to be young again.
I have thought about you often down the years.
Oh, moi aussi, moi aussi.
Ah, mon ami, mon ami.
Hercule, Hercule, I would like you to meet my two sons.
Your two so--
This is Henri.
Henri.
And this brave fellow is Hercule.
Hercule?
You are indeed fortunate to have such fine sons.
Henri, he has a look of someone, yes?
Though, perhaps I am wrong.
No, I am right. Hercule also.
There is a definite resemblance to someone I know.
My wife, perhaps?
Virginie.
Hello, Hercule.
Bonsoir...
Madame Ferraud.
I was just saying to Jean-Louis
that he was always
the most fortunate of men.