“You are not going to fight?” said Vandeuvres, coming over to Lucy Stewart.
“No, don’t be afraid of that! Only she must mind and keep quiet, or I let the cat out of the bag!”
Then signing imperiously to Fauchery:
“I’ve got your slippers at home, my little man. I’ll get them taken to your porter’s lodge for you tomorrow.”
He wanted to joke about it, but she swept off, looking like a queen. Clarisse, who had propped herself against a wall in order to drink a quiet glass of kirsch, was seen to shrug her shoulders. A pleasant business for a man! Wasn’t it true that the moment two women were together in the presence of their lovers their first idea was to do one another out of them? It was a law of nature! As to herself, why, in heaven’s name, if she had wanted to she would have torn out Gaga’s eyes on Hector’s account! But la, she despised him! Then as La Faloise passed by, she contented herself by remarking to him:
“Listen, my friend, you like ’em well advanced, you do! You don’t want ’em ripe; you want ’em mildewed!”
La Faloise seemed much annoyed and not a little anxious. Seeing Clarisse making game of him, he grew suspicious of her.
“No humbug, I say,” he muttered. “You’ve taken my handkerchief. Well then, give it back!”
“He’s dreeing us with that handkerchief of his!” she cried. “Why, you ass, why should I have taken it from you?”
“Why should you?” he said suspiciously. “Why, that you may send it to my people and compromise me.”