It was extraordinary what an ass the fellow seemed to me to make of himself!
Luckily, with Rosette laughter always followed tears. She speedily forgot her grievance, and thought of nothing but doing honor to the champagne, which made its appearance just then. Frédérique held her own with her, but did not lose her head. Balloquet, who was deeply impressed by the way in which those two bore themselves at table, tried to surpass them, got very tipsy, and nearly strangled himself pouring down champagne.
"Well done!" said Rosette; "that'll teach you to try to pour down wine like that; it seems to me such a stupid way! What's the use of drinking anything good, if you don't taste it, if you don't get the flavor of it? You throw it down your neck, as if it was a medicine you were afraid of smelling! How sensible that is! You might as well drink cheap claret; it would have the same effect as champagne."
Balloquet succeeded in ceasing to cough, and a moment later, when we were a little quieter than usual, he said to me:
"By the way, Charles, have you had any news of the man of the ring?"
"No, no, I haven't—found him yet. Why don't you drink, Balloquet?"
I was afraid that the young doctor would be guilty of some indiscretion, and I tried to change the subject. But Rosette chimed in:
"What's that? He said something about a ring. There must be a woman in that story, and I want to hear it."
"Yes, mademoiselle, yes; it is a story about a woman."
"But a very sad one," said I, interrupting Balloquet; "this is not at all a fitting time to tell it."