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A monologue from the screenplay written by Wes Anderson
(surprised) You want me to do it?
(instantly) Dear heavenly Father, please, protect our cherished guest as she travels through snow and sleet and under shadow of darkness. Guide her in the night to her final destination.
Indeed, whatever luxury she may require, be it small or more extravagant, please, do grant —
Give me your hand. (Madame D. does so. M. Gustave firmly clasps it. He says in an affectionate, reassuring, patronizing voice):
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 — (suddenly taken aback)
Dear God. What’ve you done to your fingernails? (Madame D. wears an understated, pale-pink polish. She stiffens.) This diabolical varnish. The color’s completely wrong. It’s not that I don’t like it. I’m physically repulsed. (checks his watch again) Time to go!
(to Zero) It’s quite a thing winning the loyalty of a woman like that for nineteen consecutive seasons. She’s very fond of me, you know. I’ve never seen her like that before.
(mildly concerned) She was shaking like a sh*tting dog.