“Besides, though the first one is a musical-box, the second is a nightingale.”
“Damnation!” said the confessor.
“Father! What do you mean?”
“I mean that you may go to the devil, Mademoiselle Fanchette Becquet.”
“After you, if you please, M. Charles la Coque.”
“What! you know me?”
“I saw you first in the street; I saw you afterwards through this grating as you approached. Could I mistake you, you wicked wretch? May you be cursed to all eternity for your profanation of this sacred office!”
La Coque sank back a little into the shadows, then bent forward again, and spoke softly:
“Do you know, Fanchette, I think I am coming out to strangle you.”
The young lady, now verging on hysteria, answered with a scornful gasp: