Roncherolle looked at the girl, but she was busily engaged in putting the room in order.—Chicotin arrived at that moment, with a red nose, and beating his hands together.
"Good-morning, bourgeois and the company," he cried. "How does it go this morning, bourgeois?"
"Not very well, my boy."
"Mère Lamort told me to tell you that she couldn't come up this morning; Mirontaine has swallowed a bone that stuck in his throat, so that he ain't able to bark and watch the door."
"Oh! bless my soul! we don't need the concierge," said Violette; "am I not here?"
"But you have your business that demands your attention, my child," said Roncherolle, "and I don't propose that you shall neglect your business for me; in fact, it's already late, I think, and you should be at your stand."
"No, monsieur, it isn't late; and anyway this isn't a market day, and in such weather as this, I am in no hurry; I shouldn't sell anything, for there won't be anyone out of doors."
"It's beastly weather, that's true enough!" cried Chicotin; "and cold! why, my nose and fingers are frozen stiff. But it ain't very warm in your room either, bourgeois; bigre! it's just the same as being on the boulevard."
"Well, stir up the fire, put on some wood."
"I ask nothing better."