"And who is Madame Bastien?"
"Did you hear that, madame?" asked Zerbinette, breathlessly.
"What?"
"Why, there in the cave. I heard something moving in there."
"Nonsense, Zerbinette, how silly you are! It is the wind rustling the ivy leaves."
"Do you really think so, madame?"
"There isn't the slightest doubt of it. But, tell me, who is this Madame Bastien?"
"She is the wife of a real estate agent. I suppose you would call him that, for he travels about the country buying tracts of land which he afterward subdivides and sells. He is scarcely ever at home."
"Ah, he is scarcely ever at home, that would be a great advantage, eh, Zerbinette. But tell me, is it true that this little Bastien is as pretty as people say?"
"She's a beauty, there's no doubt about it, madame. You remember Madame la Maréchale de Rubempré, don't you?"