“It’s damned funny all the same. However, as the gentleman objects, you’d better return home, Amélie. We’ll wait till some other time. By Jove! I accept your notice with pleasure! I wouldn’t stop in such a hole on any account! There are some pretty goings-on in it, one comes across some rare filth. You won’t have women brought here, but you tolerate, on every floor, well-dressed strumpets who lead fine lives behind the doors! You set of muffs! you swells!”
Amélie had gone off so as not to cause her old man any more annoyance; and he, jolly, and without anger, continued his chaff. During this time, Monsieur Gourd protected Monsieur Vabre’s retreat, permitting himself to make a few remarks out loud. What a dirty set the lower classes were! One workman in a house was sufficient to pollute it.
Octave closed the window. But, just as he was returning to Marie, an individual who was lightly gliding along the passage, knocked up against him.
“What! it’s you again!” said he recognising Trublot.
The latter remained a second taken aback. Then, he wished to explain his presence.
“Yes, it is I. I dined at the Josserands’, and I’m going—”
Octave felt disgusted.
“What, with that slut Adèle? You declared it was not so.”
Then, Trublot assumed all his swagger, saying with an air of intense satisfaction:
“I assure you, my dear fellow, it’s awfully fine. She has such a skin, you’ve no idea what a skin!”