“To return to my costume,” said Monsieur Roquencourt, “it was white and cherry, and made of silk throughout. I believe I have it yet.”
“White and cherry; and you have it yet! Ah! if you would put it on, how kind it would be of you!”
Caroline, who had not uttered a word during this whole conversation, now leaned over to me and whispered:
“Have these people come here with the purpose of making fun of my uncle?”
“No, there is another motive, which I will tell you.”
Monsieur Roquencourt looked at Giraud a moment, but replied good-naturedly:
“Oh, no! I can’t wear that costume again. It was twenty-five years ago when I wore it, and since that time I have taken on flesh, a great deal of flesh!”
“Yes, it is true, in twenty-five years one does change, one does grow fat.—Monsieur Mouillé, it seems to me that you have grown since last year.”
“Three lines,” replied Monsieur Mouillé with a bow.
“Three lines! the deuce! You will make a fine man! Mademoiselle has a fine figure too, one of those graceful and slender figures which make it impossible for a small man to offer her his arm.”