Madame D.: Come with me.
M. Gustave: To... fucking Lutz?
Madame D.: Please!
M. Gustave: Give me your hand. You've nothing to fear. You're always anxious before you travel. I admit you appear to be suffering a more acute attack on this occasion, but truly and honestly... oh, dear God, what have you done to your fingernails?
Madame D.: I beg your pardon?
M. Gustave: This diabolical varnish; the color is completely wrong!
Madame D.: Oh really? Don't you like it?
M. Gustave: It's not that I don't like it; I am physically repulsed.