"That postilion—Monsieur Edmond! oh, no! his nose is much longer."
"No, no, you are right; it isn't he!"
"Is Monsieur Edmond to be disguised as a postilion?"
"How do you suppose I know how he's disguised, or if he is disguised? I am not even certain that he's at the ball; and yet I have a shrewd idea that he'll come; it's the last masquerade, and he's so fond of sport."
"Bless me! it's natural at his age! how old is he?"
"Oh! how you pester me with your continued questioning, Héloïse!"
"Mon Dieu! how touchy you are to-night! Is it my fault, I should like to know, that you've quarrelled with your lover, that he plays tricks on you! When that happens to me, I console myself very quickly; I take another, and very often that brings back the old one, who is angry because I do as he does, and becomes much more in love than before! But you must know that method—all women employ it and it invariably succeeds."
"Yes, I know it, and I used to make use of it; but now—I can't act like that with Edmond."
"It seems that you are really caught, my dear! An experienced woman like you! I'm amazed!"
"You're amazed at everything to-night!"