"Alas! the poor beast never got home; after a minute or two, he fell dead at my feet; he was roasted, the heat of the crater had cooked him!"
"Oh! what an idea! And still he brought back the cane, roasted as he was?"
"His devotion sustained him.—But it seems to me, mesdames, that it is high time to attack this nougat and water it with a little alicante."
"Yes, yes; let's attack it and water it!—Take some nougat, Putiphar."
"You tempt me. I would make a fool of myself for this alicante!"
"What has your Sicilian come to Paris for?"
"In the first place, to see this wonderful city, which everybody aspires to know, and which no one ever wants to leave when he has once tasted its joys. Secondly, the devil of a fellow has a curious whimsey in his head: he wants to marry."
"You call that a whimsey, monsieur? why, it's a most prevalent idea."
"Look here, you'd better not talk against marriage before Putiphar, Dodichet; she'll never forgive you."
"Oh! I'll forgive monsieur for anything—he treats the ladies so handsomely; but I would like to convert him."