Chérubin hastened to supply his guest with a wine decorated with a different seal, which she drank and declared excellent. The young man would have liked to lead the conversation back to his love, but his conquest was so busily engaged in eating and drinking that he dared not divert her from an occupation in which she seemed to take so much pleasure; and then he recalled his breakfast with Madame Célival and said to himself:
“I ate heartily to drive away my bashfulness. Perhaps this pretty Pole is doing the same; but God grant that she doesn’t end as I did!”
When there was no more fish, they passed to the dessert, which was very modest, consisting only of biscuit, cheese and dried fruit. Again Chérubin anathematized the restaurant keeper; but Chichette continued to declare everything excellent; she stuffed herself with figs, raisins, and biscuit; she drank several glasses in succession to wash it all down; and at last she stopped eating and leaned against the back of her chair.
“It’s strange,” she said, “but I’m not a bit hungry now.”
“It would be much stranger if she were!” thought the young man, as he moved away from the table in order to approach his companion.
Having placed his chair close beside Chichette’s, he ventured to take her hand.
“How fortunate I am,” he said in a hesitating tone, “to be—to be with you! What a lucky chance it was that led me to the theatre where you were; for, but for that, I should never have met you; and yet, my friend, the gentleman who was with me that evening says that we were born for each other.—Do you think that, madame?”
Chichette rose hurriedly, saying:
“I am rather full; it’s funny, for I didn’t eat very much.”
She walked several times around the room. Chérubin went to her and said: