"Pardieu! I knew it. I've got eyes like a falcon, I have. But I don't see what made you think Bastringuette was there. Your wench wouldn't have rigged herself out in her prettiest togs to go to a paltry shop where they sell burned onions and old Brie cheese. When a woman dresses up, it means that she's going to meet a man she wants to catch; you don't need to be a chemist to see that." "Yes, yes, you are right." "Oh! I know the world, my boy. Sometimes I don't say nothing, but I think a lot. But what's to hinder your going into the shop and asking if Bastringuette's been there to-day?" "No; she'd find out that I'd been looking for her; she'd think that I care what she does. I won't do it." "It seems to me, she wouldn't be far out of the way if she thought that." "I tell you, I don't love her any more--I hate her; but I'd like to catch her with the other one, just so's to say: 'You're a pair of curs, and I despise you!'--and that's all. I tell you, Jean Ficelle, no woman will ever be anything to me after this; they're too treacherous; I won't have any more mistresses, I swear!" "Don't swear--that's nonsense! Look you, I'll give you another comparison: when a woman has a pretty cat, she always says when she's patting him and kissing him: 'If I lose this one, I swear I'll never have another.'--But what happens? her cat dies or gets lost, and in a little while she's sure to get another one, and says just the same about him that she did about the first one. Now, you see, women say just the same thing about their lovers that they do about their cats. 'If this one leaves me, I'll never have another.'--And when their lover leaves 'em, they always take another, just as they do a cat. Well! when a man says: 'I won't have any more mistresses, because mine has played tricks on me,' it's just the same story." "But I have some character, some strength of will!" cried Sans-Cravate; "and to prove that I don't mean to think of Bastringuette any more, I'm going to drink and gamble and enjoy myself--go on a spree with my friends." "Well, well! good enough! that's what I call talking! Come along, I'll take you to the rendezvous of the _Francs-Lapins_. You'll find some friends there you can depend on. Have you got any cash?" "Yes, I still have six or seven francs left of what Monsieur Albert gave me last night." "We must spend 'em! Anyway, we can't do any more work to-day; it's too late, and you need amusement, and so do I. Forward--and as we go along, I'll teach you a drinking song that goes to the tune of _Partant pour la Syrie_, with an accompaniment of tongs beating a kettle; it has a fine effect at dessert."