"Do you mean that you wanted to fight again, pray? Good God! is it a disease with you? It isn't so very long since you were cured of that bullet in your side."
"Bah! a trifle, a scratch. I am not quarrelsome; but when a man seems to look askance at me, that irritates me. After all, I am not particular about seeing those walking rushlights of the Blanquette wedding party. But there was another man; if he doesn't come, I shall be surprised. However, it's not too late yet; he was only married yesterday, and a man doesn't get up very early on the day after his wedding."
"What! you expect to fight with someone who was married yesterday?"
"Why not? We marry, we fight, we kill—or are killed! Such is life, lovely Artemisia!"
"What makes you call me Artemisia? that isn't my name."
"Because she was a widow who profoundly regretted her husband."
"But I have never regretted mine a single minute."
"That makes no difference.—So you say it's half-past twelve? Sapristi! Madame Louchard, when is that clock coming that you've been promising me so long?"
"I'm waiting for a good chance. I want something to match the rest of the furniture."
"In that case, my dear friend, as I have here a so-called Louis XIII desk, a Louis XV armchair, and a Louis XVI commode, it seems to me that you cannot do otherwise than procure a Louis XIV clock, to fill up the inter-regnum and reestablish the continuity of the dynasty."