"Oho! so it's all up with you, is it? You're not a man at all; you've forgotten how to laugh or drink or play cards. Good-day! you're lost to society."
Jean Ficelle walked away. Sans-Cravate had not been alone on the corner three minutes, when, in spite of the bad weather, a young woman in a coquettish little cap and silk apron, and struggling with a large umbrella to shelter her from the snow, walked up to the messenger and said to him:
"Are you Monsieur Sans-Cravate?"
"Yes, mamzelle."
"My mistress would like to speak to you right away."
"Your mistress! Oh! I guess I know you; aren't you with a lady who lives in Rue Neuve-Vivienne?"
"Yes, with Madame Baldimer."
"That's the name."
"Will you come?"
"Right away, mamzelle."