"How foolish!" said Mlle. Fouchette, affecting a charming modesty. She had a way of cocking her fair head to one side like a bird.
"Never mind, mes enfants," said Jean. "Come along."
The three linked arms and passed off the bridge and up the Rue Dauphine and Rue de Monsieur le Prince for Boulevard St. Michel, the lively young women distributing confetti in liberal doses and taking similar punishment in utmost good humor, Jean not sorry for the time being at finding this temporary distraction. He had generously replenished the pretty bags from the first baraque, though they were quickly emptied again in the narrow Rue de Monsieur le Prince, where a hot engagement between students and "filles du quartier" was in progress.
Mlle. Madeleine was fairly choking with laughter. She had just caught a young man with his mouth open, by a trick of the elbow; and as he mutely sputtered confetti her petite blonde companion caught her long skirt aside and kicked his hat off. This "coup de pied" was administered with such marvellous grace and dexterity that even the victim joined in the roar of laughter that followed it. A thin smile spread over her pale face as Jean looked at her.
"La Savatière,—bravo!" cried a youth.
"C'est le lapin du Luxembourg," said another.
"It is Mademoiselle Fouchette."
"There, monsieur," remarked Fouchette, slyly, "you see I'm getting known in the quarter."
"I don't wonder," said Jean, laughing.
They found seats beneath the awnings at the Taverne du Panthéon. The rain of confetti was getting to be a deluge. He asked them what they would have.