“She is very gay, very fond of laughing; she rides and fences and dances admirably.”
“Sapristi! why on earth didn’t you give her a part in the play, Monsieur Glumeau? I should have been delighted to fence with her, to try the four blows with her.”
Monsieur Glumeau was no longer there; he had gone to receive his guests; but little Astianax, made exceedingly loquacious by the champagne, replied:
“My mother and sister aren’t very fond of Madame Boutillon—that is the pretty brunette’s name; they say that her manner with men is too free.”
“Oh! of course! that’s just like the women; when one of them happens to be a little more lively, a little less prudish, and doesn’t pick her expressions, but says frankly what she thinks, why she is voted bad form at once! she is too free! I snap my fingers at it; I like them that way myself, and I will look after the little Boutillon!”
“Ah! here is Miaulard, messieurs.”
“Good-evening, Miaulard; are you still hoarse?”
“I am getting better, much better.”
“The deuce you say! you seem hardly able to speak to-day.”
“Yes, but the last time I couldn’t speak at all.”