"As you please; there's no accounting for tastes. You are very delicate, you are; for my part, I'd drink a goblet of rum without winking. This is anisette—a lady's cordial! sweet as sugar! Never mind, it's not bad."
"What are you doing now, Ballangier? Are you working anywhere? Come, tell me frankly."
"I'm going to tell you just how it is. As if I could conceal anything from you! I always pour out my troubles on your breast."
"Why did you come here to-day?"
"I'll tell you all about it. But haven't you something a little stiffer to give me? Your anisette makes me sick at my stomach. Tell me where it is; don't disturb yourself."
"I have nothing else to give you; moreover, I don't choose to give you anything else. If I listened to you, you would drink yourself drunk here. It's quite enough that you should take the liberty to smoke; you know perfectly well that I don't like it."
"People smoke in the most select society."
"Enough of this, monsieur! Why did you come here in spite of my prohibition?"
"Oh! monsieur—what a tone! We seem to be in an infernal humor to-day, monseigneur! Luckily, I'm not easily frightened."
I strove to keep down my irritation; I stood in front of my mirror and arranged my cravat, then finished dressing myself. Ballangier, seeing that I paid no heed to him, poured out another glass of anisette; then, trying to assume a piteous tone, he mumbled: