"That's a matter of taste. I don't propose to contradict you."
"Was she pale, trembling? did she look as if she had been crying?"
"Why, not at all! She was fresh and rosy and affable; she laughed as she jumped out of the carriage; then I saw her figure, which isn't so bad, although she's a little stout."
"Stout! why, no! she's slender and rather small."
"I tell you, she's decidedly plump. But that does no harm in a blonde; a thin blonde is too much like a feather-duster."
"Blonde? Fanny is dark! You made a mistake, monsieur; it wasn't the bride that you saw."
"It wasn't the bride that I saw? Oh! I beg your pardon, monsieur; I can't be mistaken, for I talked with the groom's uncle, whom I know very well, Papa Blanquette, wholesale linen-draper."
"Blanquette! I beg your pardon, monsieur; the party you saw isn't the one I am expecting."
"Faith! it's not my fault. You ask me if a wedding party has arrived at this restaurant, and I tell you what I've seen. It seems that that isn't the one you are looking for; pray be more explicit, then."
"Oh! monsieur, pardon me; it's no wonder that I make mistakes, I am in such agony!"