Chérubin, on his side, glanced at the lady in front of him, and whispered to Daréna:
“Pray look at that pretty creature, my dear fellow!”
Daréna put his head forward, pretended to be moved to admiration, and replied:
“Upon my word, I never saw anything so perfect! The freshness of the rose and the splendor of the lily! She’s a pearl! At your age I would have stormed the moon to possess that woman.”
Chérubin made no reply, but he paid much more attention to the young lady in the green cap than to the play that was being performed. For her part, Mademoiselle Chichette, faithful to her instructions, turned constantly to look at Chérubin. Her glances lasted so long sometimes that Poterne was compelled to pull her dress, and whisper:
“That’s enough, you’re going too far! Anyone would think that you did nothing else on the boulevards.”
After some time Daréna said to his young friend:
“It seems to me that you are making progress, and that your business with this rose-bud is in a fair way to end in a bargain.”
“Why, it is true, she does look at me rather often. I don’t know whether I ought to hope.”
“You don’t know! What in the devil more do you expect a woman to do at first sight than to return your glances—yes, and with big interest! You have made a conquest of her, that is evident.—Gad! what a lucky fellow you are! I have an idea that she’s a foreigner; that man isn’t a Frenchman; he must be her husband.”