"Mon Dieu! I would not wait to be asked twice, if someone would allow me to kiss her." It was extraordinary what an ass the fellow seemed to me to make of himself! Luckily, with Rosette laughter always followed tears. She speedily forgot her grievance, and thought of nothing but doing honor to the champagne, which made its appearance just then. Frédérique held her own with her, but did not lose her head. Balloquet, who was deeply impressed by the way in which those two bore themselves at table, tried to surpass them, got very tipsy, and nearly strangled himself pouring down champagne. "Well done!" said Rosette; "that'll teach you to try to pour down wine like that; it seems to me such a stupid way! What's the use of drinking anything good, if you don't taste it, if you don't get the flavor of it? You throw it down your neck, as if it was a medicine you were afraid of smelling! How sensible that is! You might as well drink cheap claret; it would have the same effect as champagne." Balloquet succeeded in ceasing to cough, and a moment later, when we were a little quieter than usual, he said to me: "By the way, Charles, have you had any news of the man of the ring?" "No, no, I haven't--found him yet. Why don't you drink, Balloquet?" I was afraid that the young doctor would be guilty of some indiscretion, and I tried to change the subject. But Rosette chimed in: "What's that? He said something about a ring. There must be a woman in that story, and I want to hear it." "Yes, mademoiselle, yes; it is a story about a woman." "But a very sad one," said I, interrupting Balloquet; "this is not at all a fitting time to tell it." "Why not? I like sad things too; I like plays that make you cry. Oh! Monsieur Larose, do tell us the story." "With pleasure, mademoiselle!" I trembled lest Balloquet should disclose what I had concealed from Frédérique. He did not know that the man of the ring was Monsieur Dauberny; but if he should mention the name Bouqueton, Frédérique would know at once that the man was her husband. I tried to make signs to Balloquet to hold his peace; but he did not look at me, and began his tale. Frédérique said nothing; but she watched us closely and did not lose a word of what the young doctor said. Stammering and hesitating a little, he told poor Annette's story; but he did not mention the assassin's name. "What a ghastly story!" exclaimed Frédérique, with a shudder. "It's horrible!" cried Rosette. "Oh! what an abominable man! But didn't the poor girl tell you his name?" "Yes, yes," replied Balloquet, "she told us. The devil take the name! Would you believe that I can't remember it?--But you know it, Rochebrune, as you know the man." "You know that villain, Charles? Oh! but you must have had him arrested, then?" "No, I could not; we have no evidence." "But what about that ring that he gave the poor girl?"