"Make way there for monsieur the millionaire!"
"They are ambassadors on their way to the Court of Persia."
"Ohe! Panè! panè! panè!"
Thus we run the gauntlet of all the tongues in the Temple, sometimes retorting, sometimes laughing and passing on, sometimes stopping to watch the issue of a dispute or the clinching of a bargain.
"Dame, now! if it were only ten francs cheaper," says a voice that strikes my ear with a sudden sense of familiarity. Turning, I discover that the voice belongs to a young woman close at my elbow, and that the remark is addressed to a good-looking workman upon whose arm she is leaning.
"What, Josephine!" I exclaim.
"Comment! Monsieur Basil!"
And I find myself kissed on both cheeks before I even guess what is going to happen to me.
"Have I not also the honor of being remembered by Mademoiselle?" says Müller, taking off his hat with all the politeness possible; whereupon Josephine, in an ecstasy of recognition, embraces him likewise.
"Mais, quel bonheur!" cries she. "And to meet in the Temple, above all places! Emile, you heard me speak of Monsieur Basil--the gentleman who gave me that lovely shawl that I wore last Sunday to the Château des Fleurs--eh bien! this is he--and here is Monsieur Müller, his friend. Gentlemen, this is Emile, my fiancé. We are to be married next Friday week, and we are buying our furniture."