“Don’t talk of it, Mother Arsene; I had no heart to dance. Poor Cephyse—the Bacchanal Queen—has done nothing but cry all night. She cannot console herself, that her lover should be in prison.”
“Now, look here, my girl,” said the old woman, “I must speak to you about your friend Cephyse. You won’t be angry?”
“Am I ever angry?” said Rose-Pompon, shrugging her shoulders.
“Don’t you think that M. Philemon will scold me on his return?”
“Scold you! what for?”
“Because of his rooms, that you occupy.”
“Why, Mother Arsene, did not Philemon tell you, that, in his absence, I was to be as much mistress of his two rooms as I am of himself?”
“I do not speak of you, but of your friend Cephyse, whom you have also brought to occupy M. Philemon’s lodgings.”
“And where would she have gone without me, my good Mother Arsene? Since her lover was arrested, she has not dared to return home, because she owes ever so many quarters. Seeing her troubles. I said to her: ‘Come, lodge at Philemon’s. When he returns, we must find another place for you.’”
“Well, little lovey—if you only assure me that M. Philemon will not be angry—”