But the petite-maîtresse did not give the ex-druggist an opportunity to speak; she stifled with her handkerchief the outburst of laughter inspired by Monsieur Monin’s unique countenance, and turned to Madame Destival, saying:
“Who is this?”
“A neighbor of ours, very rich, but as stupid as he is ridiculous.”
“Ah! so much the better; we will have some sport with him. We may as well laugh a bit. Do you expect anybody else?”
“Why, yes, we expect a young man, a great friend of Monsieur Destival—Monsieur Auguste Dalville. Do you know him?”
“No, but I’ve heard a great deal about him; he is noted in society for his bonnes fortunes and his conquests. I shall be very glad to make his acquaintance. As a general rule, these naughty fellows are very agreeable—don’t you think so, my dear?”
“Why, sometimes—not always. However, you shall judge for yourself.”
“They say he’s very good-looking?”
“Oh! so-so; a passable face, that’s all; rather fine eyes, but his mouth is a little too large and his lips are very thick. I don’t like that type of face at all.”
“For my part, I don’t like thin lips. Is he light or dark?”