They were having dessert, when Campardon exclaimed:
“By the way, my dear fellow, you know that Duveyrier has found ————”
He was about to name Clarisse. But he recollected that Angèle was present, so, casting a side glance toward his daughter, he added:
“He has found his relative, you know.”
And, biting his lip and winking his eye, he at length made himself understood by Octave, who at first did not in the least catch what he meant.
“Yes, Trublot, whom I met, told me so. The day before yesterday, when it was pouring in torrents, Duveyrier stood up inside a doorway, and who do you think he saw there? why, his relative shaking out her umbrella. Trublot had been seeking her for a week past, so as to restore her to him.”
Angèle had modestly lowered her eyes onto her plate, and began swallowing enormous mouthfuls. The family rigorously excluded all indecent words from their conversation.
“Is she good looking?” asked Rose of Octave.
“That’s a matter of taste,” replied the latter. “Some people may think so.”
“She had the audacity to come to the shop one day,” said Gasparine, who, in spite of her own skinniness, detested thin people. “She was pointed out to me. A regular bean-stalk.”