"Ah, that accounts for the broken chair! Good night, Charlotte." Then, as the girl left the room, Madame Perrault sighed. "That Jeanne will be the death of me."
"I'll take her in hand when she comes to me," Berthier laughed. "We'll have to find a husband for her. That will cure her of her craze for the circus."
"A husband for Jeanne, little Jeanne!" Madame Perrault exclaimed in horror. "She's barely fourteen."
"And in two years she'll be a woman. I was in love with you at fifteen. Don't you remember? We thought of eloping."
"Taisez-vous!" cried Madame Perrault, flushing, and trying not to join in the laughter that the speech excited from Jules. "You make me a great fool before my daughter and my new son."
"He isn't your son yet," Berthier insisted, to tease her.
"But he will be soon."
"That's just what I wanted you to say!" Jules cried. "The sooner the better. Tomorrow would suit me."
The glasses had been filled with champagne, and Berthier lifted his glass high in the air, crying:
"Let us drink to the fiancés! May their marriage be long and their engagement short! Here's health and happiness to them!"