"What's that? you're going to have a supper?"
"Parbleu! I should say so! What does a party amount to without supper? You'll stay, won't you?"
"Faith! Monsieur Pamphile, you are so kind—your company is so lively; I'm tempted to let the landlord's party go by the board."
Madame Dauberny and I were walking behind them, and heard every word of their conversation. She had taken my arm as if we were old acquaintances, and she said in an undertone:
"It will be fortunate if your friend Balloquet stays here, for I think that he's a little exhilarated, and if he should come to Anna's ball he might say something that would compromise us by betraying our little fraud."
"You are entirely right, madame; but you need have no fear: Balloquet will stay here. He has been told of a supper to come, and he is one of those persons who never refuse a meal, even when they have had four during the day."
"That speaks well for his digestion.—Mon Dieu! just look: I believe that they propose to make us dance now. Monsieur Bocal is trying to induce his landlord to polk. It must be that the man's lease is nearing its end, and he wants to renew it."
The music had, in fact, excited Monsieur Bocal, who deemed it his duty to walk in step and was almost polking when he presented his landlord to his daughter Pétronille, who was a plump, chubby-cheeked wench, very fresh and red, with no other recommendation than her youth.
Monsieur Guillardin took out his snuffbox and offered it to the bride, who muttered:
"Snuff! Sneeze all the time I'm dancing! I guess not! And I haven't got a handkerchief, either."