"No, she won't sell it to anybody!—but to me, having taken a fancy to me, she will give a jar."
"Oh! that is much more agreeable! And when will you have this jar?"
"To-morrow, if I choose."
"And you will give it to me?—Ah! you are a friend!"
"Yes, I will give it to you, but on one little condition, and that is that you will do me a favor in return. Between friends, you know, when one obliges the other, he always expects reciprocity."
"What is it that I must do?" asked Plumard, with a frown.
"A very simple thing, which will not disturb you in the least. When you go home to-night, go into Landry the bath keeper's place—he is your neighbor—and hand his wife this white plume, which I picked up under their balcony one night when I walked home with you. Then you will say to Dame Ragonde: 'Your daughter's lovers lose their plumes at night, scaling your balcony; here is one which I picked up, and which belongs to a young nobleman whose name your daughter will tell you.'—And then you will go away. It's the simplest thing in the world."
Plumard pushed his stool away from the table, crying:
"A very pretty commission that! I shall be well treated when I deliver that message.—No, no! do your errand yourself—you may have all the profit."
"As you please; but since you refuse to do it, we will say no more about the jar of pomade."