“Why, indeed, there is a great difference between that closet and the coach-and-four in which Cephyse came to fetch you the other day, with all the fine masks, that looked so gay—particularly the fat man in the silver paper helmet, with the plume and the top boots. What a jolly fellow!”
“Yes, Ninny Moulin. There is no one like him to dance the forbidden fruit. You should see him with Cephyse, the Bacchanal Queen. Poor laughing, noisy thing!—the only noise she makes now is crying.”
“Oh! these young people—these young people!” said the greengrocer.
“Easy, Mother Arsene; you were young once.”
“I hardly know. I have always thought myself much the same as I am now.”
“And your lovers, Mother Arsene?”
“Lovers! Oh, yes! I was too ugly for that—and too well taken care of.”
“Your mother looked after you, then?”
“No, my girl; but I was harnessed.”
“Harnessed!” cried Rose-Pompon, in amazement, interrupting the dealer.