"But how—she must make some leetle monee of her own, and it is for why she goes on the theatre. I have seen her act and sing."
"Can she sing?"
"Ah, you shall hear. She will sing for me, m'sieu, and bigosh—excusez, Mr. Ringfield—I'll get her sing to-night. And if I do that, will you, sir, do one great thing for me?"
Ringfield smiled. "I won't promise, Poussette. You're a deeper character than I thought you were. At any rate, I'll do nothing about a divorce—make sure of that, man!"
Poussette, with large, noble gestures, waved the divorce away.
"I say nothing. I will do nothing. But if you will be so kind, sir, as to speak of me to Mees Clairville, should my wife, Mme. Natalie—die! Tell her, sir, how I am good man, au fond, sir, by my nature; how I love the leetle babee, plenty small babee; how I am kind, jolly man, by my nature, sir; how I would like to marry with her, give her good tam. You tell her this, Mr. Ringfield, for me, and make me your best friend, sure?"
Half-laughing, half-shocked, and for the moment forgetting his own views and dreams concerning her, Ringfield acceded to the unusual request.
"And remember, m'sieu—tell her I go no more on the dhrunk after I marry with her—no, sir, go no more 'tall. If we live in Morréall, tell her I'll go no more on that Hotel Champlain neither; a friend of mine, Napoleon Legendre, he has a temperance 'otel in Craig Street; I go there, sir, and never touch even one glass of beer. Tell her that. And tell her I am for selling this place, and p'raps buy Clairville Château. Tell her——"
"Enough, enough, my good Poussette!" cried Ringfield, jumping up as he heard feminine voices nearing their retreat. "Your virtuous resolutions do you credit, and may you be enabled to perform and carry them through—if not to the letter at least in the spirit."
"And you don't think me bad, low kind of garçon, eh?"