“Yes, to be sure, I did what you told me; but they won’t either of them come.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Freluchon has contracted the habit of laughing in everybody’s face; he joked me about my change of name, and declared that if he came to see us he couldn’t help calling me Chamoureau. As you may imagine, I didn’t insist.”
“But his friend, Monsieur Edmond Didier?”
“Oh! that’s a different matter! He has a love-affair on the brain; a passion—oh! a grand passion—Look out, my dear, you’ll drop that book you have in your hand.”
“Never mind, monsieur; what does the book matter? Go on; you say that Monsieur Edmond is very much in love—as usual—some caprice for a grisette, for that gentleman takes to that type of woman.”
“No, madame, this time it’s a respectable young woman with whom he is in love.”
“How do you know that she is respectable?”
“Because I know her; she’s a fascinating blonde.”
“You know her, you say, monsieur; and you have never mentioned it to me!”