"A carriage, when there are eight of us! We will run; the weather's fine and that will warm us up."
Edmond was in the vestibule with his little débardeur on his arm; two young men, friends of Freluchon and himself, each accompanied by an unmasked domino, and the little woman dressed as a Louis XV marchioness completed the party. The merry band walked away, shouting oh! and éh! as the custom is during the Carnival, each with his chosen companion on his arm; our widower alone had no one, which fact did not prevent his shouting louder than the others, for he said to himself:
"If I haven't a woman on my arm at this moment, I flatter myself that the one I have captivated is worth more alone than all four of their supper companions."
They arrived at Vachette's, where Freluchon, being a man of forethought, had engaged a private room beforehand. The table was laid; the ladies removed their hoods, caps, gloves, everything that would interfere with their eating; and they all whispered and laughed as they glanced at the Spaniard.
"Who on earth is this tall scarecrow without a lady?" they asked Freluchon; "is he a provincial on his first visit to Paris?"
"No, mesdames," Freluchon replied, "he's a widower who has sworn to remain faithful to his defunct spouse; he's a male Artemis; he is Orpheus, who has lost his Eurydice and is constantly looking for her. If you wish, I will make him weep in a moment."
"No, no, thanks! we prefer to laugh. But why does he wear a disguise if he's so grief-stricken?"
"To disguise his grief; he is persuaded that he has no right to divert himself except in that costume."
"Mesdames, don't you think Freluchon is stuffing us?"
"To table! to table!"