“Yes, I have my usual place, in the stalls.”
“You had better go and occupy it, then.”
“I see her very well from there, too,” added Valentin, serenely, “and to-night she is worth seeing. But,” he added in a moment, “I have a particular reason for going back just now.”
“Oh, I give you up,” said Newman. “You are infatuated!”
“No, it is only this. There is a young man in the box whom I shall annoy by going in, and I want to annoy him.”
“I am sorry to hear it,” said Newman. “Can’t you leave the poor fellow alone?”
“No, he has given me cause. The box is not his. Noémie came in alone and installed herself. I went and spoke to her, and in a few moments she asked me to go and get her fan from the pocket of her cloak, which the ouvreuse had carried off. In my absence this gentleman came in and took the chair beside Noémie in which I had been sitting. My reappearance disgusted him, and he had the grossness to show it. He came within an ace of being impertinent. I don’t know who he is; he is some vulgar wretch. I can’t think where she picks up such acquaintances. He has been drinking, too, but he knows what he is about. Just now, in the second act, he was unmannerly again. I shall put in another appearance for ten minutes—time enough to give him an opportunity to commit himself, if he feels inclined. I really can’t let the brute suppose that he is keeping me out of the box.”
“My dear fellow,” said Newman, remonstrantly, “what child’s play! You are not going to pick a quarrel about that girl, I hope.”
“That girl has nothing to do with it, and I have no intention of picking a quarrel. I am not a bully nor a fire-eater. I simply wish to make a point that a gentleman must.”
“Oh, damn your point!” said Newman. “That is the trouble with you Frenchmen; you must be always making points. Well,” he added, “be short. But if you are going in for this kind of thing, we must ship you off to America in advance.”