"Go on! what happened at Monsieur Mirotaine's?"
"We had a fairly good dinner, except for the vin ordinaire, which was only too plentiful, the champagne, which tasted like Rogé's purgative lemonade, and the crême à la vanille, which was sweetened with camphor. My false count didn't say a word, but confined himself to eating; as I had said, however, that he wanted a chance to study the young lady before he proposed, everything went well; but, after dinner, while we were in the salon, picking up radishes and pickles which Mirotaine had in reserve in his pocket, lo and behold! Dubotté arrived with his wife—a pretty little blonde, on my word!—Would you believe that Dubotté recognized my pseudo-count, and said to him: 'How are you, Seringat? how's your good wife?'—You can imagine the sensation!—Papa Mirotaine was furious, the wardrobe woman confused, the guests stared at one another in amazement,—and my soi-disant marrying man took his legs in his hand, after consigning to the devil the man who had asked him about his wife. In the midst of all that confusion, I had great difficulty in keeping from roaring with laughter.—Monsieur Mirotaine questioned me; he undertook to be wrathful, but I mounted a higher horse than he; I declared that Miflorès had fooled and deceived me, and that I was going to demand satisfaction from him. I came away, and here I am!—Well, what do you say to that?"
"I say that you did wrong to play this farce, and I am afraid that it will do me more harm than good."
"Why, no, it won't; the old miser, disgusted with the idea of prospective husbands he doesn't know, will refuse to receive any more of them, and will consent to give you his daughter."
"I have no hope that things will turn out so."
"You're an ungrateful wretch!—Try to oblige your friends, and this is the reward you get! And he can't even give me a bit of tobacco!"
"You intended to be useful to me, my dear Dodichet, and I thank you for it; but, I say again, I am not at all at ease as to the results of your ill-timed jest."
"If you smoked, you wouldn't be so timid! Adieu, virtuous man, prudent man, indefatigable worker! Adieu, O most extraordinary man—who doesn't smoke! You are not of your epoch!"
"That may be! but I am perfectly sure that a time will come when Frenchmen will have become courteous and refined once more, and will be unable to understand how their ancestors could have smoked so much!"
"Adieu! I fly now in quest of my treasurer; I must see him, for the waters are low, and I want to buy a gorgeous costume for my début in the rôle of Joconde."