"The insolent wretch who amused himself at my expense, and whom you must punish!"
Monsieur Plays turned pale as death, and clung to his wife's arm, muttering:
"My corns hurt me terribly! the weather will change to-morrow; it's a sure sign of rain!"
"I'm not talking about your corns, monsieur; there's the young man who was responsible for my carrying a cigar in my bosom two months, and I must have satisfaction, monsieur. I will sit here on this bench, and I shan't lose sight of you. Go and challenge Monsieur Pigeonnier; if you don't, never hope to enter my boudoir again! you understand, monsieur; now, go!"
The superb Herminie seated herself at one end of the foyer, sustaining with much self-possession the glances bestowed upon her by the men who were walking back and forth there during the entr'acte. As for Monsieur Plays, who was compelled to go and pick a quarrel with a fellow creature—he would have preferred, at that moment, to be at Algiers, or on the railroad.
Tobie had recognized the happy couple; and he continued to stroll about the foyer, looking at himself in the mirrors, and trying to keep his monocle in his eye. Suddenly a timid voice addressed him; he turned, and saw Monsieur Plays, whose manner was anything but provocative, and who saluted him very courteously, saying:
"Have I the honor of speaking to Monsieur Tobie Pigeonnier?"
"Why, it's Monsieur Plays! Delighted to meet you! How's your health, Monsieur Plays?"
"Very good, thanks; but I am suffering a good deal with my corns. My boots hurt me. Have you any?"
"Boots?"