“Will you have some olives?” said Rose-Pompon, as she nibbled one of them herself.

“Is that your answer?—­I understand!—­Unfortunate Philemon!”

“There is no unfortunate Philemon in the case, slanderer.  Clara had a death in her house, and, for the first few days after the funeral she was afraid to sleep alone.”

“I thought Clara sufficiently provided against such fears.”

“There you are deceived, you great viper!  I was obliged to go and keep the poor girl company.”

At this assertion, the religious pamphleteer hummed a tune, with an incredulous and mocking air.

“You think I have played Philemon tricks?” cried Rose-Pompon, cracking a nut with the indignation of injured innocence.

“I do not say tricks; but one little rose-colored trick.”

“I tell you, that it was not for my pleasure I went out.  On the contrary—­for, during my absence, poor Cephyse disappeared.”

Yes, Mother Arsene told me that the Bacchanal-Queen was gone on a journey.  But when I talk of Philemon, you talk of Cephyse; we don’t progress.”

“May I be eaten by the black panther that they are showing at the Porte Saint-Martin if I do not tell you the truth.  And, talking of that, you must get tickets to take me to see those animals, my little Ninny Moulin!  They tell me there never were such darling wild beasts.”

“Now really, are you mad?”

“Why so?”

“That I should guide your youth, like a venerable patriarch, through the dangers of the Storm-blown Tulip, all well and good—­I ran no risk of meeting my pastors and masters; but were I to take you to a Lent Spectacle (since there are only beasts to be seen), I might just run against my sacristans—­and how pretty I should look with you on my arm!”

“You can put on a false nose, and straps to your trousers, my big Ninny; they will never know you.”

“We must not think of false noses, but of what I have to tell you, since you assure me that you have no intrigue in hand.”

“I swear it!” said Rose-Pompon, solemnly, extending her left hand horizontally, whilst with her right she put a nut into her mouth.  Then she added, with surprise, as she looked at the outside coat of Ninny Moulin, “Goodness gracious! what full pockets you have got!  What is there in them?”

“Something that concerns you, Rose-Pompon,” said Dumoulin, gravely.

“Me?”

“Rose-Pompon!” said Ninny Moulin, suddenly, with a majestic air; “will you have a carriage?  Will you inhabit a charming apartment, instead of living in this dreadful hole?  Will you be dressed like a duchess?”

“Now for some more nonsense!  Come, will you eat the olives?  If not, I shall eat them all up.  There is only one left.”

Without answering this gastronomic offer, Ninny Moulin felt in one of his pockets, and drew from it a case containing a very pretty bracelet, which he held up sparkling before the eyes of the young girl.