"Bravo! that's the kind of a speech I like!" said Roncherolle, taking Zizi's hand and patting it; "and if I were more active, I would say also: this is the kind of woman I like!"
"Listen to that! you're not shy! You're an old rounder, you are; anyone can see that right away. You have made a fool of yourself for women, haven't you?"
"I glory in it; I have but one regret, and that is that I can't do it any more!"
"Do you hear, Alfred? Take monsieur for your model. Let his cane be your oriflamme! You will always find him on the path of glory!"
As she spoke, Zizi had taken possession of Roncherolle's cane; she thrust it into a mustard pot on the table and waved cane and mustard pot in the air. Roncherolle sank on a chair, laughing till the tears came; but Saint-Arthur cried out, because she had spattered him with the mustard, which he had received in the eye and on his waistcoat.
"Sapristi! take care, Zizi; see what you've done; you're spattering mustard on my waistcoat."
"What a calamity! Waistcoats can be cleaned, my friend."
"But you have also thrown some into my eye!"
"Eyes can be cleaned too."
"It stings me horribly."