"You think that it's better there?"
"Oh! I am sure of it, my dear fellow! that's an excellent restaurant. And when you happen to want a truffled snipe à la provençale, just order it in the morning when you go out to walk; it will be all ready for you at six o'clock, and you can tell me what you think of it."
"You seem to know the good places, Monsieur Chamoureau."
"What would you have? my knowledge goes back to the time of my marriage; Eléonore liked good things to eat and we often dined at restaurants—with Freluchon. He always went with us; my wife liked to have him because he knew all about wines and I knew very little. My wife would say: 'If Freluchon doesn't come with us, we shall have some wretched madeira.'—But he never refused to come, the dear fellow."
"It was a pleasure to me."
"To be sure, where my wife was, one could never be bored; she had so much wit!"
"Ah! she was agreeable, was she?"
"Agreeable! Eléonore! Why, monsieur, she was a very superior woman—a regular bluestocking! She could have written her own memoirs if she had wanted to; but she wouldn't do it, she was too bright for that. She just sparkled with fun, with imagination. I shall never find another woman like her, never! never! What a loss I have sustained! I can never be consoled; when I lost her, I lost all!"
Monsieur Chamoureau drew his handkerchief again and began to weep.
"Come, come, Monsieur Chamoureau," said Edmond, "you must be reasonable!"