‘You can still give me the kiss, Gaudin, without being entirely ruined,’ said Marotte Dupré, as she pouted her red lips towards him.
Sainte-Croix inclined his head towards her. As he did so, Marie darted forward, and violently drew him back. The action was seen by all the bystanders. They said nothing, but shrugged their shoulders; whilst Marotte Dupré looked as if she felt perfectly ready for another duel with her new and unknown rival.
‘Messieurs,’ cried Lauzun, ‘I have a novelty in store for you. I have picked up a fellow on the Pont Neuf who will sing you couplets about yourselves by the mile. He is there every afternoon that it is warm enough for folks to stand and listen.’
‘Let us see him,’ said Dubois, anxious with the rest to turn the attention of the company. ‘A diable les femmes! There is not a misery in the world but is connected with them, if you search its source.’
‘Nor a pleasure,’ replied Lauzun. ‘You ought to know, abbe, if experience teaches anything.’
‘And monsieur does know,’ said a person who entered just at the moment. A glance sufficed to show Sainte-Croix that it was Benoit, who appeared to have reassumed, in part, his ancient mountebank costume.
‘This is the fellow,’ said Lauzun. ‘Come, friend,’ he continued, addressing the other, ‘do you see any one here you can sing about?’
‘That do I,’ said Benoit, looking over the crowd; ‘there is the Abbe Dubois.’
‘Respect the church,’ cried Lauzun laughing. ‘The abbe is beyond your couplets.’
‘Not at all,’ said Benoit. ‘Mère Ledru left the Quartier Saint-Honoré but yesterday, entirely to save her daughter from his addresses. Oh! the abbe is a bon diable, but sly in his pursuits. Hem!’