The old woman put her finger on her mouth, and with a mysterious air, said,—
"My mistress wishes to speak with you."
"Your mistress," cried Chaudoreille, his features becoming cheerful, for he did not doubt that he had made a conquest, "oh, that's it, my good woman, I understand you. But is she young? is she rich? is she?—Never mind, it's all the same, lead me to her."
"No, she can't receive you today, but be here tomorrow at dusk. I will come and look for you and will introduce you."
"It's enough! I'll be here, I'll not fail, whether it rains or shines. One word, if you please, messenger of love. Can you not tell me where your mistress has seen me?"
"In the street, I presume, since she was at her window. Tomorrow evening, monsieur; I can't stop any longer."
"Go, Flore! go back to Cytherée," said Chaudoreille, as the old woman went off, then he continued on his way, saying,—
"It's an amorous adventure, I know;—this mystery and a rendezvous at dusk. She has seen me through the window. By jingo! I do well to look my best; a pretty man should always carry himself as if everybody was looking at him." He then walked along, looking so much in the air that he ran against a water-carrier who was advancing quietly with his two buckets full, and threw himself so heavily upon him that one of the buckets escaped from his hand.
"Cursed idiot," cried the Auvergnat. "Wait, take that to teach you to look before you!" Saying these words the water-carrier calmly emptied his other bucket over Chaudoreille. The chevalier was drenched. In his fury he drew Rolande from the scabbard and advanced on the Auvergnat; but the water-carrier, without appearing at all dismayed by the falchion which his adversary flashed as he capered and jumped about like one possessed, took one of his buckets in each hand and tranquilly awaited the expected onset of the doughty knight, shouting in an aggravatingly jeering tone,—
"Come on, you baked apple! come on stupid, that turnspit you term a sword doesn't frighten me in the least."