Godler.
Madame Duranton had a daughter.
Trévelé.
To whom you made love?
Godler.
To whom we all made love, without any good intention—you can understand. The young girl, then between 18 and 19 years old, was a beautiful creature, with naturally golden hair, like women have artificially now-a-days, with violet-blue eyes, cheeks like a rose of Bengal, and teeth and lips resembling almonds between two halves of a cherry.
(During this time Godler from time to time arranges his whiskers, and a lock of hair which falls over his forehead, with a little comb that he takes out of his pocket.)
Trévelé.
One could almost wish to taste thereof. You are a poet!