"Never, never, never, Gervaise. My father made me take an oath like Hannibal's to Hamilcar."
"What was that?"
"He made me swear to die a bachelor, like himself."
"Oh!" cried Gervaise, summoning tears to the assistance of her words with a woman's marvellous power of weeping to order, "oh! you're like all the rest. Promises cost nothing, and when the poor girl is seduced they forget what they promised. I will take my turn at swearing now, and swear that I will never be caught again."
"And you will do well, Gervaise," said the student.
"When one thinks," cried the grisette, "that there are laws for robbers and cut-purses, and none for the scoundrels who ruin poor girls!"
"But there are, Gervaise."
"There are?"
"Why, of course. Didn't I tell you that they sent poor Ascanio to the Châtelet for seducing Colombe."
"They did well, too," said Gervaise, to whom the loss of her honor had never presented itself so forcibly until she was fully convinced that Jacques Aubry was determined not to give her his name by way of compensation. "Yes, they did well, and I wish you were in the Châtelet with him!"