"Oh! my dear Monsieur Edmond," he replied, after adjusting his boots, "you will understand that my heart, my poor heart, will have no part in it! Henceforth nothing will ever touch that; it is dead to love. Eléonore has carried with her all the sentiment it could possibly contain—dear Eléonore!"
"Are you going to shed tears, Chamoureau? they will spoil your rouge."
"No, no, I said that just as I would have said anything else."
At that moment a man dressed as a Swiss woman, with long locks hanging down his back and a number of little brooms in his hand, halted in front of Chamoureau, crying:
"Ah! my hearties! what do I see? A sunbeam disguised as a Spaniard! How brilliant it is! how it gleams! Are you just from Peru, my ducky? It is at the very least Le Cidre or Gusman with a sheep's foot, who knows no obstacle! Isn't he fine, the coco! But while you had the cash, Gringalet, you should have bought some calves, for you lack 'em altogether! and your parapetted boots will fall on the floor!"
The crowd had stopped and formed a circle to listen to the Swiss woman who had attacked the Spaniard.
Chamoureau, being rather disconcerted, began by making sure that his false nose was secure, then muttered:
"If I have no calves, it's fair to presume that I don't care for them."
"How now! is that all you've got to say for yourself, you poor thing? Did you spend all your wit to buy your costume? What a simple air the great clown has! He must be some keeper of turkeys who's been dismissed, and is entirely out of his element when he's no longer surrounded by his flock."
Chamoureau, sorely vexed to be called a keeper of turkeys, retorted sourly: