“Very well! I am going to wait for him too,” said the neighbor, whose voice was no longer of the most honeyed kind; and as she passed Bertrand on her way to the salon, she whispered to him:
“I don’t know who this woman is, but she’s very bad style!”
Virginie stayed behind in the reception room a moment, to say to Bertrand:
“Who’s that little jackdaw? Don’t lie to me, my little Bertrand, or I’ll make a row.”
“She’s a lady who lives in the house.”
“Aha! lives in the house, does she? That’s very convenient! She looks like a regular slut! Has Auguste known her long?”
“Why, no; about six weeks.”
“How do you expect me to know that? Do you suppose I ask my lieutenant: ‘Do you love So-and-So, or Such-a-One?’”
“All right! you’re a villain. I can only say that Auguste shows poor taste! She’s a homely creature, that woman; she has red rims about her eyes, just like a rabbit’s, and she has an ugly mouth, hasn’t she, Bertrand?”