"Yes, messieurs; it was at Madame Baldimer's last reception. You know whom I mean? that American who has made such a sensation in Paris, because she is very beautiful, very bright, and very original."
"And who is supposed to be very rich," said Célestin.
"Well, isn't she?" queried Tobie Pigeonnier, rubbing his nose with the head of his cane.
"Why, people are beginning to doubt it; she gives very few big dinners now."
"If she gives many small ones, that amounts to the same thing."
"What a stupid creature you are, Tobie! Pray let me finish my story. Madame Plays was there with her husband. Good God! what a husband! he ought to serve as a model for them all."
"Because his wife has given him a pair of horns that wouldn't pass under Porte Saint-Denis?"
"Oho!" said Tobie, laughing uproariously; "do you mean to say that poor Monsieur Plays is a stag?"
"I say, Célestin, to think that Tobie didn't know that! Where have you been, my dear fellow—to the Marquesas Islands? to the kingdom of Lahore?"
"As if Tobie knew anything! When a man has passed his youth on Rue Beaubourg, he is bound to be far behind the times."