"Another bock, eh?" said Forestier.
"Willingly."
They sat down and watched the passing throng.
From time to time a woman would stop and ask, with stereotyped smile: "Are you going to stand me anything?"
And as Forestier answered: "A glass of water from the fountain," she would turn away, muttering: "Go on, you duffer."
But the stout brunette, who had been leaning, just before, against the box occupied by the two comrades, reappeared, walking proudly arm-in-arm with the stout blonde. They were really a fine pair of women, well matched.
She smiled on perceiving Duroy, as though their eyes had already told secrets, and, taking a chair, sat down quietly in face of him, and making her friend sit down, too, gave the order in a clear voice: "Waiter, two grenadines!"
Forestier, rather surprised, said: "You make yourself at home."
She replied: "It is your friend that captivates me. He is really a pretty fellow. I believe that I could make a fool of myself for his sake."
Duroy, intimidated, could find nothing to say. He twisted his curly moustache, smiling in a silly fashion. The waiter brought the drinks, which the women drank off at a draught; then they rose, and the brunette, with a friendly nod of the head, and a tap on the arm with her fan, said to Duroy: "Thanks, dear, you are not very talkative."