“I marry when I please,” said the virago. “I don’t trouble the mayor, or bother his deputies. As for my customers, they adore me, and I talk to ‘em as I choose. If they don’t like it, they can snake off elsewhere.”
“This is the result of monopoly,” thought Birotteau.
“Popole!—that’s my godson,—he must have got into mischief. Have you come about him, my worthy magistrate?” she said, softening her voice.
“No; I had the honor to tell you that I came as a customer.”
“Well, well! and what’s your name, my lad? Haven’t seen you about before, have I?”
“If you take that tone, you ought to sell your nuts cheap,” said Birotteau, who proceeded to give his name and all his distinctions.
“Ha! you’re the Birotteau that’s got the handsome wife. And how many of the sweet little nuts may you want, my love?”
“Six thousand weight.”
“That’s all I have,” said the seller, in a voice like a hoarse flute. “My dear monsieur, you are not one of the sluggards who waste their time on girls and perfumes. God bless you, you’ve got something to do! Excuse me a bit. You’ll be a jolly customer, dear to the heart of the woman I love best in the world.”
“Who is that?”