“There is no unfortunate Philemon in the case, slanderer. Clara had a death in her house, and, for the first few days after the funeral she was afraid to sleep alone.”
“I thought Clara sufficiently provided against such fears.”
“There you are deceived, you great viper! I was obliged to go and keep the poor girl company.”
At this assertion, the religious pamphleteer hummed a tune, with an incredulous and mocking air.
“You think I have played Philemon tricks?” cried Rose-Pompon, cracking a nut with the indignation of injured innocence.
“I do not say tricks; but one little rose-colored trick.”
“I tell you, that it was not for my pleasure I went out. On the contrary—for, during my absence, poor Cephyse disappeared.”
“Yes, Mother Arsene told me that the Bacchanal-Queen was gone on a journey. But when I talk of Philemon, you talk of Cephyse; we don’t progress.”
“May I be eaten by the black panther that they are showing at the Porte Saint-Martin if I do not tell you the truth. And, talking of that, you must get tickets to take me to see those animals, my little Ninny Moulin! They tell me there never were such darling wild beasts.”
“Now really, are you mad?”