"To-morrow night! at the Pâté!"
Tobie reflected for some time; he tried to think who the lady could be who wished to see him; and at last he thought of Madame Plays, who had left him so abruptly on the Champs-Élysées; perhaps she knew the whole story of Albert's conduct now, and wished to revenge herself with him for her lover's faithlessness, and to compensate him for the outburst of temper to which she had given way when she left him.
"If Albert did write anything offensive in that letter," he thought, "she has probably learned that I had nothing to do with it; she is sorry that she treated me so badly, and means to treat me better now. I am less surprised, because, when I was making love to her, she seemed to be deeply touched; everything was going along finely, and, if it hadn't occurred to her to read that infernal letter, I should certainly have triumphed.—What sort of looking woman was it who gave you the message?" he asked Bastringuette.
"Oh! a very fine-looking woman."
"A little large, wasn't she?"
"Yes, monsieur, she's plump; but it's becoming to her."
"Light chestnut hair?"
"Very light—almost a blonde."
"That's it. A voice something like a man's?"
"Oh! a splendid voice; when she speaks, you'd think it was a hand organ. She ought to sing well, she had."