“Let us go.”
Chambourdin glanced once more at the girl, who tried to conceal her tears with her flowers, and he said to his companion:
“She isn’t of the same style of beauty at all as Madame Boutillon, but she pleases me greatly, none the less.”
XXII
A BOTTLE OF ABSINTHE
Georget ran home to his mother without stopping, without drawing breath; he found her sewing, snatched her work from her hands, and threw it aside, saying:
“Drop that, mamma, don’t work any more, don’t tire your eyes any more; hereafter you will be able to enjoy yourself, to be happy, to walk about all day long. Oh, yes; you are going to be very happy, I tell you! Pack up your things quick, we’re going away.”
Honest Mère Brunoy gazed at her son in surprise, utterly unable to understand what he said; but his wild manner, his excitement, frightened her, and she exclaimed:
“What’s the matter with you, Georget? what has happened to you, my boy? You’re not in your usual condition.”
“It’s joy, mother; yes, it’s pleasure, I tell you, good fortune; that upsets a man a little, but I shall get used to it; I will make the best of it and not think of her any more.”
“You will make the best of your good fortune! you won’t think of her any more! I don’t understand at all! You talk of joy and of pleasure, and you have tears in your eyes, and you are as pale as death! Do you know that you don’t look at all like a person who brings good news?”