"Ah! it wasn't Malvina! Ah! I was mistaken, was I? You are caught, traitor! As for you, little one, you know what I promised you if you ever went with Adolphe. I don't go back on my word—take that!"
As she spoke, the peasant dealt the dairymaid a powerful blow on the cheek; the latter attempted to take her revenge and to return the blow she had received from her jealous rival; but as Monsieur Adolphe had taken advantage of the battle to make his escape, the Norman ran after him, crying:
"It's no use for you to run away—I'll find you. Come, Adolphe, don't run; I am not angry any more. Malvina has what she deserves, that's all I wanted."
And the peasant disappeared in the crowd, while the little dairymaid replaced her mask and tried to readjust her disordered costume.
"Oh! the fishwoman!" she exclaimed; "is it possible that there can be such ill-bred women! But she shall pay me. I'll go to see her man—the fat hosier who is ruining himself for her; I'll tell him about all the games she plays on him. Bless my soul! there's enough of 'em to cover the city wall."
One gentleman had been a silent spectator of this scene, which, however, seemed exceedingly distasteful to him. The reader will guess that it was Chamoureau, who saw his second conquest escape him with the stick of candy which he had presented to her.
"How is this?" he said to himself at last; "she assured me that she came to the Opéra this evening solely to see me, and she was on the watch for one Adolphe! She told me that she loved me, that she was on fire for me, and she leaves me to go and kick up a jealous row with that young man—and she beats the girl he has on his arm!—The deuce! what a wench! it's a bad move to deceive her. She told me that she was very rich, that she had a fine house on Rue de la Pépinière. The little dairymaid declares that she is kept by a hosier. What am I to believe out of all that? The one thing that is certain is that she has run after her Adolphe. I am very sorry that I bought the candy for her! but she said such pleasant things to me and pressed my arm so affectionately! O these women! I'll not trust them again; and yet it would be very cruel to have come to the Opéra ball without making a single acquaintance! What would those fellows think of me?"
In his disappointment, Chamoureau decided to go up another flight. There were fewer people in the corridor on the third floor, but the couples were more amorous in proportion to their scarcity; they talked into each other's faces, gazed into each other's eyes, held each other's arms or waists; and sometimes in the ardor of conversation, the hand strayed over a shapely figure.
Our widower observed all this, and his regret that he was alone became all the keener.
"All these people are very fortunate!" he said to himself; "they have love-affairs, intrigues under way. I am well aware that I too have been intrigué—mystified,—but nothing has come of it; for frankly I believe that I should have been very foolish to walk on Rue de la Pépinière, in the hope that a bouquet would be thrown to me from a window! That Norman must have been lying to me. My wisest course now is to join Freluchon and Edmond, so that I may go to supper with them. Still, it is annoying not to take someone with me to the supper; for I'll wager that each of them will have a little woman! Their luck is beyond my comprehension! I suppose that it's the same as in gambling: some people always win and others never do!"