"Faith! yes, so I have. So much the worse for Ronfland! After all, it's his own fault!"
Dupont put the little brunette's arm through his and took her to the café; he ordered punch and filled a glass for his new acquaintance, who drank it readily, but kept repeating:
"After this you'll dance with me, won't you, monsieur? For one don't come to a ball to go without dancing."
And Dupont, who was not at all anxious to dance, continued to pour out the punch, as he replied:
"Yes, by and by; we have time enough. There are too many people here now; we should be too warm; it's better to drink punch."
But suddenly a young man, with a cap cocked over one ear, rushed up like a bomb, brought his fist down on the table, upset the punch bowl and glasses, and boxed the little brunette's ears, crying:
"Ah! that's how you behave, Joséphine! I've caught you at it! I bring you to the ball, and you play tricks on me with other men! I'll bring you to the right-about, you vile street walker!"
Mademoiselle Joséphine began to weep.
"You're still drunk, Ronfland," she cried. "I don't play tricks on you; you ought not to leave me; you're a drunkard; I don't love you any more!"
But Dupont was not of a temper to allow a woman who was in his company to be maltreated; he rose, picked up the empty bowl, which was rolling about the table, and with it struck Ronfland on the nose.