"Positively, don't you guess? Still going on in the old way with that monster of a painter, who is more bitter than ever against Alfred. He has quite muddled his brains, till I declare I don't know what to do with him."
"Cabrion again?"
"Oh, he'll never leave off."
"He must be the very devil!"
"Really, M. Rodolph, I shall very soon think so; for he always knows the very instant I quit the house. Scarcely is my back turned, than there he is, in the twinkling of an eye, worrying and tormenting my poor old dear of a husband, who is as helpless and frightened as a babby. Only last night, when I had just stepped out as far as M. Ferrand's the notary's—Ah, there's pretty work there, too!"
"But Cecily?" said Rodolph, with some little impatience. "I called to know—"
"Hold hard, my king of lodgers! Don't be in such a hurry, or you'll put me out. And I've such a deal to tell you, I don't know when I shall have done; and if once I'm interrupted in a story, I never know when to begin again."
"There now, go on as fast as you can; I'm listening."
"Well, then, first and foremost, what do you think has happened in the house? Ah, you'll never guess, so I'll tell you. Only imagine, old Mother Burette's being taken up!"
"What, the female pawnbroker?"