The Treasury clerk pursed his lips and continued, emphasizing every word: "I have never had any _bonnes fortunes_, messieurs; and I don't propose to begin now that I am married." "What a hypocrite!" muttered my stout neighbor. "I don't know the fellow's wife, but I pity her; for I am convinced that she has a mighty poor fellow for a husband." "What, Monsieur Faisandé! not even some trivial little bit of fooling to tell us? Come, search your memory, did nothing ever happen to you in the Cité? in Rue aux Fèves or Rue Saint-Éloy? There are plenty of frail damsels on those streets, they say." This time Monsieur Faisandé turned green; he did not know which way to look, and stammered a few inaudible words. Dupréval, observing his evident discomfort, and wishing to put an end to a scene which threatened to lose its comic aspect, hastily asked Montricourt to take the floor. The dandy smoothed the nascent beard that adorned his chin, then said in a low voice, assuming a serious air: "What I am about to tell you, messieurs, may seem improbable to you. Understand that I have had a pair of wings made--yes, messieurs, a pair of wings as magnificent as an eagle's. I fasten them under my arms, and then, as you can imagine, I go wherever I choose. When a woman attracts me, I fly in at her window, even if she lives on the fifth floor; I carry her off, and I win her in mid-air! It's a wonderful thing!" "I beg your pardon," said Monsieur Roland, ironically; "while you are making love in mid-air, you can't keep your wings at work; so you must fall. Look at the birds; they always light to do their billing and cooing." "I anticipated that difficulty, my dear fellow; so, before I launch myself in the air, I always make myself fast to your balloon, which holds me up." This witticism ranged all the laughers on Montricourt's side, and even Monsieur Roland decided to admit defeat. It was now the turn of Monsieur Rouffignard, the corpulent bon vivant who sat next to me.