“When a husband is foolish enough to go to law about such a bagatelle,” said a young Frenchman, “he well deserves to have the whole world laugh at him.”
“Bagatelle!” repeated the Spaniard, “when a man’s honor is involved!”
“What a devil of a place has he put his honor in? Ha! ha! It was Beaumarchais who said that, and Beaumarchais had a devilish lot of wit! When I acted his Figaro, I was with——”
“I say, messieurs, don’t you want to hear the newspaper?”
“Yes, indeed; we are listening.”
“‘A case, of common enough occurrence in its general character, but very interesting in its details and in the course of the trial, was heard to-day in the Court of First Instance. Monsieur Ferdinand-Julien Bélan married in June, 1824, Mademoiselle Armide-Constance-Fidèle de Beausire. For several years——’”
“Ferdinand Bélan?” I exclaimed, waking from my reverie. All eyes were turned upon me, and someone exclaimed:
“Do you know him? Is he a friend of yours? What sort of man is he? Tell us about him.”
“I do know a person of that name, but perhaps it is not the same man. My Bélan is married, it is true, but I lost sight of him a long while ago. I know nothing whatever about him.”
“Oh! it’s probably this man.”