“I mean, didn’t he have any blanket on him? They put blankets on some dogs, just as they do on horses.”
“No, monsieur, he had nothing on him; he’s white with black spots. I presume that he belongs to the little boy’s parents, as he instantly undertook to defend him.”
“True; your conjecture is very just; if he belongs to the boy’s parents, the boy is his little master, and it was as such that he defended him.—Now let us come to the woman: some wretched peasant, I suppose?”
“No, monsieur, a lady; but I know who she is!”
“Ah! you know her, do you?”
“I don’t know her, but I divined who she was: that Madame Dalmont, for whom you bought a miserable shanty down here!”
“Indeed! Madame Dalmont, the protectress of young Agathe, with whom our friend Edmond Didier is in love.”
“Exactly. Did you hear how they talked about those two women at our party?”
“I heard—that is to say, no, I didn’t hear. What did they say about those two ladies?”
“That they were creatures unfit to be received in society; that they led a scandalous life here, receiving no one but men, and, it is believed, lodging them at night;—do you understand?”