"They come on some—family business."
"And, you see, I know the gentlemen," interposed Madame Putiphar, "and I answer for them. First, there's Monsieur Dodichet, a commission merchant in sugar, a delightful young man, of the best tone, and as gallant as any knight; and his intimate friend, Count Miflorès, an Italian, rich as an English lord, who is looking for a young lady to marry—without any dowry."
"Ah! very good; I see—we understand.—You understand, Égilde, don't you?"
Madame Brid'oison was intent on fastening back one of the corkscrew curls, which persisted in trying to get into her mouth; so she contented herself with an affirmative smile. The dealer in wardrobes added, in an undertone, taking care to move away from Juliette:
"We mustn't act as if we knew the count's intentions, for he wouldn't like it. He thinks that we don't know them, and that he is invited solely because he's Monsieur Dodichet's friend; in that way, you see, he can talk with Juliette and not be embarrassed."
"Very well; still, you did well to warn us. I wouldn't mind a drop of absinthe while we're waiting for dinner—in some water; that opens up the appetite."
"My dear friend, if you want to drink absinthe, you may go down to the café at the corner of the street; don't hesitate."
"Why? haven't you any here?"
"What! absinthe?—a rank poison!"
"Poison when you take it pure; but with plenty of water——"