“Good-morning, Madame Catherine,” he returns, with a look of malice in his eyes. Then turning to the other he remarks, “You will see how she will manage to invite you to join in.”
Bruno, running at a swift pace, passes before the newcomers. The young woman, making a sudden detour, again approaches them, and asks in a voice of admirable nonchalance:
“Would you not like to play for a while, Monsieur Firmin?”
“Ah, what did I tell you?” exclaims Andoche, bursting into laughter.
“Will you be one of us?” continues the young woman.
“I do not know the game, but I will play,” responds Firmin.
Catherine, by an adroit manœuvre, leads the waiting Bruno to one side and smilingly makes him a sign. He throws himself upon Firmin and besmears his face with berry juice. Firmin’s surprise quickly curdles into anger. Like a giant he resents the treatment, but it is quite unnecessary for him to give poor Bruno such a resistless blow. Advancing to interpose hasten Rosalie, Félicité, Suzanne, Justine, Nicholas, Mathieu, Constant, and others. Firmin has not time to give a second blow. He strikes out only once, but that is quite sufficient.
Catherine briefly explains the nature of the game. During her explanation the jeering Andoche regards her insolently, and when she has finished he observes: “It is not a proper or neat game for Sunday, when one is quite clean and fresh.”
“And now,” continues Catherine, coolly, paying no heed to the sneer of Andoche, “it is your turn to run after some one, and decorate her face if you catch her.”
“I will, then, run after you,” declares this young Antinous, rather stupidly.