The latter was a man of forty years, neither handsome nor ugly, but always carelessly dressed. There was always a certain disorder in his costume, although his clothes themselves were as fine as other men's. But, generally speaking, it is the way clothes are worn that makes all the difference, and we see men very well dressed who never look so, while others, even in the simplest costume, seem to be dressed with the greatest elegance. Monsieur Bruneau never wore gloves, he had a sort of dirty aspect, and smelt of tobacco a mile away. He passed all the time he was not employed at the department in playing dominoes and drinking beer or absinthe. To his mind, women were of less importance than the double-blank. But Dubotté was much attached to Bruneau, because when he desired to keep an appointment with one of the fair sex he had only to make a sign to his friend, who never failed to say:
"Just come to the café for a few moments; those domino fiends are waiting for us; we'll play the best two games in three, then you can come back to your wife."
Dubotté would assent, promise Éléonore to return very soon, and pass the whole evening away from her. It was small wonder, therefore, that such friends were not at all welcome to madame, and that she preferred to them a young man who was so bashful that he stumbled over a compliment.
Dubotté received Callé as if he had known him for years; he shook hands with him effusively; a little more, and he would have embraced him. Dinner was served, and, in the midst of the conversation, Dubotté exclaimed:
"Pardieu! I know now why Dodichet played that joke on poor Mirotaine; it has just come back to me. One of our mutual friends, a poor fellow named Lucien, is in love with Mademoiselle Mirotaine.—Did you know that, Monsieur Callé?"
"Yes, monsieur; I have heard Madame Mirotaine say so; but as the young man has nothing, they refuse to give him Mademoiselle Juliette."
"Exactly; Lucien told us about it not long ago; he was afraid that some rich man would marry the girl, who has no dowry, but who is very pretty.—Don't you think she's pretty, Nonore?"
"Oh, yes! to those who like brunettes."
"And I remember that Dodichet said to Lucien: 'Don't you want me to help along your love affair by playing some good practical joke on your old skinflint of a Mirotaine?'—He called him an old skinflint, because he's very close-fisted, very miserly; you must have noticed that?"
"I have never paid any attention to that, monsieur."