What I loved most was to make my round among the tables and mingle closely with the worshippers. Of the men, clean and correct in their perfectly fitting flannels, sometimes stern, sometimes mocking, sometimes pettishly cross, I was rather shy; but I was quite at my ease with the women, even with those whose many rings and jewels, violent perfumes and daring effects of dress made me instinctively differentiate from their quieter and less bejewelled sisters. Blanquette laughingly called me a "petit polisson" and said that I made soft eyes at them. Perhaps I did. When one is a hundred and fifty it is hard to realise that one's little scarecrow boy's eyes may have touched the hearts of women. But the appeal of the outstretched tambourine was rarely refused.
"Get out of this," the man would say.
"But no. Remain. Il a l'air si drôle—what is your name?"
"Je m'appelle Asticot, Madame, à votre service."
This always amused the lady. She would search through an invariably empty purse.
"Give him fifty centimes."
And the man would throw a silver piece into the tambourine.
Once I was in luck. The lady found a ten-franc piece in her purse.
"I have no change," growled the man.