Madame—What! the Abbe's son? (Both break into laughter.)
Her Friend—But—ha! ha! ha!—what are you saying, ha! ha! you little goose?
Madame—I said the Abbe Gelon and the Abbe Brice, and you add, 'And his son.' It is your fault, dear. He must be a choir-boy, that cherub. (More laughter.)
Her Friend—(placing her hand over hey mouth)—Be quiet, be quiet; it is too bad; and in Lent, too!
Madame—Well, but of whose son are you speaking?
Her Friend—Of Ernestine's son, don't you know, Albert, a picture of innocence. He heard your husband's pleasantry, and his mother was vexed.
Madame—My dear, I really don't know to what you refer. Please tell me all about it.
Hey Friend—Well, on entering the drawing-room, and perceiving the candelabra lit up, and the two Abbe's standing at that moment in the middle of the room, your husband appeared as if looking for something, and when Ernestine asked him what it was, he said aloud: "I am looking for the holy-water; please, dear neighbor, excuse me for coming in the middle of the service."
Madame—Is it possible? (Laughing.) The fact is, he can not get out of it; he has met the two Abbes, twice running, at Ernestine's. Her drawing-room is a perfect sacristy.
Hey Friend (dryly)—A sacristy! How regardless you are getting in your language since your marriage, dear.