“The devil! you ought to look after that. Thanks to you, I have got to go home to change my waistcoat and shirt.”
“Oh! that’s nothing.—So, the night before last he took the young woman to a closed box at the Opéra, eh?”
“Yes, yes.—Is there any more on my face?”
“None at all; you look splendid. Go on.”
This compliment restored Raymond’s good humor; he tucked his frill out of sight and resumed the conversation.
“Yes, they were there, in a box——”
“So, it’s all over, is it?”
“Oh, no! not yet. The beauty hangs back, you understand, and Grandmaison isn’t the man to push matters so fast—with his bad leg, he needs all the conveniences. Oh! if it had been one of us two, that would have been the end; we are sad rascals, you know!”
“But since then?”
“He saw the little one again yesterday morning, outside the walls. He promised to give her a magnificent cashmere shawl, genuine Turkish, to-night, if she’d take supper with him at his house; moreover, a complete apartment, a lady’s-maid, a carriage at her service, and a hundred louis a month, to say nothing of presents, if she would agree to stay.”