"It is provoking!" exclaimed his companion.
"I don't understand it at all," said he.
"I do," replied Mlle. Fouchette.
"And, see, little one, I don't like it."
"I knew you wouldn't, and that is why I suggested the right bank of the river."
"True,—I always make a mistake when I don't follow your advice. Have some more wine,—I call that good."
"It ought to be at two francs a bottle," she retorted.
"My father would call this rank poison, but it goes."
"Poor me! I never tasted any better," laughed the girl, sipping the wine with the air of a connaisseuse. "A litre à cinquante is my tipple," she said.
"Now, what the devil do all these people mean?" he asked, when a party had passed them with a slight demonstration.