"Base fellow! You take advantage of my confidence. A contract is a contract!"
"No," stammered Tournicquot, "I shall be a man and live my love down.
Monsieur, I have the honour to wish you 'Good-night.'"
"Hé, stop!" cried Béguinet, infuriated. "What then is to become of me? Insolent poltroon—you have even destroyed my rope!"
THE CONSPIRACY FOR CLAUDINE
"Once," remarked Tricotrin, pitching his pen in the air, "there were four suitors for the Most Beautiful of her Sex. The first young man was a musician, and he shut himself in his garret to compose a divine melody, to be dedicated to her. The second lover was a chemist, who experimented day and night to discover a unique perfume that she alone might use. The third, who was a floriculturist, aspired constantly among his bulbs to create a silver rose, that should immortalise the lady's name."
"And the fourth," inquired Pitou, "what did the fourth suitor do?"
"The fourth suitor waited for her every afternoon in the sunshine, while the others were at work, and married her with great éclat. The moral of which is that, instead of cracking my head to make a sonnet to Claudine, I shall be wise to put on my hat and go to meet her."
"I rejoice that the dénoûment is arrived at," Pitou returned, "but it would be even more absorbing if I had previously heard of Claudine."
"Miserable dullard!" cried the poet; "do you tell me that you have not previously heard of Claudine? She is the only woman I have ever loved."
"A—ah," rejoined Pitou; "certainly, I have heard of her a thousand times—only she has never been called 'Claudine' before."