"Ta! ta! ta! What a nice, amiable boy it is!—You treat a person, and try to make yourself agreeable to him, and to reward you he threatens to beat you!—All right; we will say no more about it, my dear fellow; I will keep my discovery to myself, and if a few of my hairs should fall out some day I shall know how to remedy it."
Plumard was silent for a moment, nibbling a piece of dry bread.
Then he murmured, in a softer tone:
"Then why have you fooled me so often? How do you expect me to have confidence in you?"
"It's all right! it's all right! let us say no more about it."
"But this old hag who makes the pomade—do you know her address?"
"No, I tell you, I no longer know anything; I was lying, I was trying to make fun of you! I deserve nothing better than the rope's end or the cudgel!"
"Come, come, Bahuchet! I was too quick; I am sorry."
"Ah! when a friend tells me that he is sorry, I cannot harbor ill will against him.—Yes, I know where to find the hag."
"And she sells this pomade?"