"'Old man!' I answered. 'If it were not that Fifine would cry, then I would pluck you by that nose of yours and drag you along the boulevard, an object of derision to all Paris.'
"'Name of a dog!' he retorted.
"'Name of a pipe!' I rejoined. And then I conciliated him.
"'Come now,' I said. 'For Fifine's sake, let us be friends. For Fifine's sake, let us swear a great oath, like the Homeric heroes, that if ever we meet in a battle, or even in a riot, we will spare each other.'
"The Père Dubois knew but little of the Homeric heroes, though he understood that they had distinguished themselves in the Napoleonic wars. None the less, he swore the oath over a good bottle of red wine, concluding philosophically—
"'Fifine is a good girl. I trust her. I shall tell her what to say to you, and she will reclaim you and make a good citizen of you yet.'
"To which I replied—
"'Père Dubois, you are very amiable. In compliance with your wishes, I will take quiet walks with Mademoiselle Fifine in the sheltered woods of the Buttes Chaumont, so that she may have every opportunity of converting me to your views. If the weather is fine, we will take such a walk to-morrow.'
"He grunted, but agreed. Perhaps, if he could have foreseen—but it is seldom given to a policeman to see as far into the future as a revolutionist. And now, perhaps, you picture Fifine imploring me with persuasive tears to turn my back upon the revolution and apply for a post in the gendarmerie! Then you do not know human nature; you do not know women; you do not know Jean Antoine Stromboli Kosnapulski!
"What is it that a woman likes in a man? She likes him to be different from all other men. She likes him to be strong and masterful, taking his own course and towing her like a little pinnace in his wake. If need be, she will even pique him to perversity; though, in my case, that necessity did not arise. So you must not be astonished when I tell you what Fifine actually said to me was—