"Well, well! so am I, messieurs," cried Alfred, who had stopped beside his two friends and had overheard Edouard’s last words. "I have a heart to place, and may the devil take me if I have known what to do with it for the last fortnight!—Here are plenty of good-looking women, however!"
"Faith! messieurs," said Robineau, throwing out his chest, "I protest that I contemplate all the ladies with a most indifferent eye. I am a philosopher, you see; besides, I have what I need, and it would be difficult for me to find anything better."
"Aha! Robineau, then you must show her to us. You must ask us to dine with her."
"Upon my word! do you mean to say that you think that she’s a woman for mixed parties? a woman to be taken where there are men?"
"Are you trying to make us think that she’s a duchess?"
"Why—look you—that might be."
"Ha! ha!—What on earth have you got in your pockets, Robineau? Are you wearing false hips to please your Dulcinea?"
Robineau blushed and put his hands over his pockets as he replied:
"It’s some papers that I forgot to take out of my coat."
"If you danced with such pockets as that, you must have produced a tremendous effect!—Ha! ha! it’s worse than Mère Gigogne!—Are these ministerial papers, too?"