"Our bonne," remarked the widower, complacently, "might be worse, hein?"
"I was thinking the same thing," assented Suzanne. "It seems to me that we have done very well for ourselves."
"You smoke a cigarette?"
"It is one of my consolations."
"I hope that I may be privileged to see you console yourself here often."
"And if you ever have leisure to call upon me cor le feeve o'clock, monsieur, I shall be charmed. You can hardly excuse yourself on the plea that my address is too remote."
"Believe me," said Pariset, "I warmly felicitate myself on the address; if I may say so, I am daring to foresee a friendship. And it would be very welcome, for I lead a lonely life."
"I, too," she sighed. "I am a painter, I am a communist, but all the same, I am alone."
"Ah, you are a painter, and communist, hein? We shall have subjects to talk about."
"You are surprised?"