"Mein gut frent, is id drue tat you pe not ein leedle pit in loafe mit montame? not ein leedle pit, I say?"
"What has stirred you up now, baron?" laughed Frédérique; "are you going to begin again?"
"Nein, but for vat do mein gut frent Rocheverte, he kiss your hand? I haf seen him kiss your hand."
"I did it without concealment, baron, and I ask nothing better than to do it again."
"So! in tat case, so vill ich do id again; but I haf not yet done id at all."
"Fill your pipe, baron, and let my hand alone. We were saying that Armantine's concert this evening was a bit mouche, to use a slang term—eh, monsieur?"
"Yes, madame."
"I haf not seen if tere vas mouches [flies] at Monsir Sordeville's; but he pe ein sehr bleazant man, sehr—how you say?—he make me much talk; he loafe ven I talk; he say tat I shpeak vell te language."
Frédérique's face suddenly changed; her brow grew dark, and her expression was no longer the same. She looked keenly at the baron, saying:
"What did you talk about with Monsieur Sordeville?"