"Shan't we go in and take a glass? the glass of friendship! no one refuses that."
But Sans-Cravate refused; he walked on, saying:
"Later—in a minute—I don't want to drink now."
"You're getting to be a devilish queer kind of a friend," growled Jean Ficelle; "you make me travel all over Paris dry—do you want me to catch the pip, like a turkey?"
At last they reached Rue Barbette, and Sans-Cravate pointed out to his comrade a small fruit shop at some little distance.
"That's where Bastringuette's cousin lives."
"That one-eyed fruit stall?"
"To be sure, as she keeps it."
"Well, let's go in and see if your girl's there."
"I wouldn't like to have her think I'm watching her. Do you go by alone, and look in; the shop is very small, and you can easily see all the people that are in it; I'll wait here for you."