"No! no! I don't want you to fight because monsieur pinched your wife. Mon Dieu! what a terrible thing! In the first place, Pétronille had no business to tell you of it. God! if the late Girie had fought every time anyone pinched me! But I didn't tell him! I took good care not to complain! I was too fond of my husband to do that; and he—oh! he loved his lovely blonde! You ought to hand monsieur over to the watch.—Watch! watch!"
Madame Girie persisted in shrieking: "Watch!" waving her arms, striking everybody within reach, and increasing the confusion immeasurably by trying to restore peace.
It was at that moment that I succeeded in reaching Balloquet's side, and released him from the man with the glassy eyes.
"What's all this, messieurs?" I exclaimed.—"What has happened to you, my dear Balloquet? Why are all these people so incensed with you?"
Balloquet uttered a cry of joy at sight of me, and cast a haughty glance at his adversaries, saying:
"You see that I didn't lie to you, messieurs; here's my friend, who is a guest at the other wedding and has come in search of me.—Isn't it true, Rochebrune, that you have come to fetch me, and that I am Arthur Balloquet, medical practitioner, and that I am not the sort of man to be turned out of doors?"
"Proofs! proofs! proofs!"
"I don't want my son to fight!—Listen to your mother, Pamphile!"
"You pinched Pétronille; I stick to that!"
"But I made a mistake!"