"Do wipe your eyes; come, don't cry like that!"
"I am done, I won't cry any more; I am going back to Nogent, and I shall never come to Paris again; it makes me too unhappy to see her, and to think that I mustn't love her. No, I shall not come here again. I swore that I wouldn't, when I went away before; but I will keep my oath now."
"And you will do well. I will go to see you at Nogent—that ain't against the law, is it?"
"Oh, no! do come; but you mustn't mention her to me, you mustn't tell me anything about her; I don't want to know what she is doing."
"Never fear! bigre! I won't be the one to tell you things again that make you feel so bad. Come, wipe your nose and don't think any more about her. Mon Dieu! there's no lack of pretty girls, they're a kind of seed that grows everywhere, like weeds; you can find them in the suburbs as well as in Paris; I'm sure that there are plenty at Nogent, but I'll bet that you haven't looked for them yet?"
"No, I haven't thought of it."
"We'll look for them together, and I will hunt up one able to make you forget all the flower girls in Paris."
"Yes, I will love another, I will love several others!"
"That's the talk; you must love 'em in bunches! In that way, if there's one of them who plays tricks on you, you can console yourself right away with another."
"You will come, won't you, Chicotin? you promise to come? But not to talk to me about her. What difference does it make to me now whether she is pale or red, whether she is sad or merry? Mon Dieu! it's a matter of indifference to me now; I snap my fingers at her, I don't propose to take any further interest in her. When a girl behaves as she has done, she doesn't deserve anybody's interest, does she, Chicotin?"