"Then we will transform them into charlotte russe."
"All right! Order the breakfast at Lecomte's, corner of Rue de Lancry and the boulevard; that's a nice restaurant."
"Never you fear; I know the good places."
Mademoiselle Rosa, Boulotte's fellow figurante, occupied a small fourth-floor apartment on Rue de Lancry, very daintily furnished; for, although she had yellow eyes and complexion, she always had richer protectors than several of her companions who were far prettier than she. Why was that? I decline to tell you.
On the appointed day, about half-past twelve, Dodichet was seated at the table, between Boulotte and Rosa, in the tiny dining-room of the latter's apartment. The table was covered with dishes, upon which they had already made savage attacks, and with bottles embellished with divers seals and containing wines of different colors.
They were in very high spirits, laughing while they ate, and drinking while they laughed.
"Mesdemoiselles," said Dodichet, uncorking a bottle of champagne, "I have told you the joke—the jest—the trick, in fact, which I want to play. You have promised to help me."
"We promise again."
"I swear it by my lover's hair!" said Rosa.
"Oho! but I believe your lover's bald, isn't he?—However, never mind—you know what you're to say to Madame Putiphar when she comes?"