"Are you required to have a moustache in your position, that you let yours grow?"
"It isn't absolutely required, but in all the best places moustaches are worn, and I felt that I owed that to myself. Your health, my bucks! To my pleasure at being in the bosom of my friends once more!"
Monsieur Laboussole's tone was becoming affectingly sentimental. They drank, and touched glasses; the bottles rapidly succeeded one another; their brains began to get heated, especially Sans-Cravate's, which took fire very easily. Ere long, Jean Ficelle called for a pack of cards.
"I'll play you a game of piquet, Laboussole," he cried; "piquet, the honest man's game—just for fun, to pass the time, and to see if you know how to play it."
"I play like an oyster," rejoined Laboussole; "but still I'll play whatever you say. Because I always assert that luck may come my way. Let's have a drink!"
The waiter brought the cards. Jean Ficelle took them and sat down opposite Laboussole.
"Sans-Cravate don't play," he said; "he don't like cards."
"Why shouldn't I play, eh?" cried Sans-Cravate, with a violent blow on the table. "Piquet! why, that's my favorite game; I'm very strong at it."
"Well, you shall play after a while," replied Jean Ficelle, winking at his vis-à-vis. "Let me give the inspector of fleas a beating first."
The game began; the players announced that they were playing for two francs the game, but no money was put up. Laboussole lost three games in succession; whereupon Jean Ficelle rose, with a laugh, and said: