“That’s it; but I don’t like any one to call her by that ugly, common name. Well, the governor has gone mad about her, and filed a complaint against her of decoying a minor, as if I was a fellow any one could decoy. Well, the end of it was, that she is now in the prison of St. Lazare.”
The tears started to the young man’s eyes as he related this grievance.
“Poor Zora,” he added; “I was never mashed on a woman like I was on her. And then what a splendid form she has! Why, the hairdresser said he had never seen such hair in his life; and she is at St. Lazare. As soon as the police came for her, her first thoughts were of me, and she shrieked out, ‘Poor Gaston will kill himself when he hears of this.’ The cook told me this, and added that her mistress’s sufferings were terrible. And she is at St. Lazare. I tried to see her, but it was no go;” and here the boy’s voice broke into a sob.
“Come,” said Andre, “keep up your spirits.”
“Ah! you shall see if, as soon as I am twenty-one, I don’t marry her. I don’t put all the blame on the old man. He has been advised by his lawyer, a beast by the name of Catenac. Do you know him?”
“No.”
“You don’t seem to know any one. Well, I shall send him a challenge to-morrow. I have got my seconds all ready. By the way, would you like to act for me? I can easily get rid of one of the others.”
“I have had no experience in such matters.”
“Ah, then you would be of no use. My seconds must put him into a regular blue funk.”
“In that case—”