“That’s the way,” cried Madame Giraud triumphantly; “that’s the way; isn’t it, Monsieur Blémont?”
“Yes, madame; it’s all right now.”
“There, Monsieur Giraud, you see. When one knows how—and monsieur did not seem to make any effort.”
“No, madame, none at all.”
“Faith, my dear fellow,” said Giraud, “if you will come here every day when madame is dressing, you will do me a great favor.”
“Hush, Monsieur Giraud; you ought to be ashamed.—Excuse me, Monsieur Blémont; I must go and finish dressing. A thousand thanks.”
Madame returned to her room, and Giraud invited me to sit down in a corner of the salon that had been swept; but I took my hat and bade him adieu; he escorted me as far as the landing, saying:
“My friend, marry. Believe me, it is the happiest state. I have three superb matches at your disposal.”
“All right, we will see.”
“If your stick is found, I will put it away.”