"What nonsense!" said stout Julienne; "they're always in their place!" "You see, I haven't any low tastes. I wouldn't go out with a man who didn't have gloves and trouser-straps!" "Oho! she reminds me of that tall Hélène who used to work here, and had the brass to say to us: 'I don't go with any men but those that have red morocco boot tops; I don't have anything to say to a man who has black leather ones, because they don't go with patent-leather boots.'" "I didn't know that honest men were canaille," retorted Elina, flushing with anger; "I thought no one was ever called by that name but villains and rascals." "Hallo! here's Elina showing fight!" cried Laura; "_dame!_ you attacked her on a sensitive spot. Bah! I've broken my needle; that's the fifth one to-day. That makes Euphémie laugh. It's very funny, ain't it?" "Ha! ha! ha! five needles [_aiguilles_]! I thought she said five eels [_anguilles_]!" "Oh! my dear, eels don't break; you can do whatever you please with eels--even to making a _matelote_." "I know a song about 'em," said Julienne, "where it's said that eels are like young girls." "The deuce! Potage has made me prick myself," rejoined Mademoiselle Laura; "she refers to something they sing at the Opéra-Comique: "'Eels and young girls alike, All's fish that comes to my net.' There you have it; I heard it in _Mazaniello;_ and that's a mighty fine opera, I tell you! I saw it at a theatre in the suburbs, where they had three supers to represent the Neapolitan populace in revolt; one of the three was a little old man of fifty or sixty, with a red cap, who kept running into the wings to turn up a lamp that threatened to go out, and finally took the lamp down altogether and held it in his hands during the grand final chorus, of which the words were: "'Death, death to the tyrants!' I believe. And when he was singing, as he was anxious to put spirit into it, he waved the lamp as if he was threatening the audience, so it seemed as if he intended to kill the tyrants with lamp oil. At last, right in the middle of the chorus, one of the three musicians who composed the orchestra stood up and shouted, as mad as you please: '_Sacrédié!_ Monsieur Fiston, don't hold your arm out so far; you're throwing oil on me! My coat's all spotted! Is it the fashion now to sing in opera with a lamp in your hand?'--Mon Dieu! I never laughed so much in all my life!" "What a lucky creature that Laura is! she goes to the theatre very often." "Oh! I used to go much oftener. I had an acquaintance who stuffed me with tickets and all sorts of delicacies." "A gentleman?" "To be sure--and a very pretty fellow he was. I never saw a man wear his cravat so jauntily; he used to tie it in the most enticing rosette----" "Mademoiselle Laura, you're beginning to say improper things again!"