Paul seemed not to hear, and made no reply. As for Sans-Cravate, the frequent bumpers he had drunk were beginning to excite his brain and becloud his eyes. He did not notice the glances that his mistress bestowed upon her vis-à-vis; but Jean Ficelle, who saw everything, smiled malignantly as he muttered between his teeth, though loudly enough for Sans-Cravate to hear: "What infernal traitors women are! If I had a mistress, I'd never take her into company, unless there was nobody else there." "Well," observed the shabbily clad guest, attacking the sausage Paul had refused, "business don't seem to be very bad, my friends, for your life is watered with wine." "I had a good evening," said Sans-Cravate; "fifteen francs for one errand!" "Peste! is it a duke and peer that you work for, my friend?" "No; but a young man who lives well! _Bigre!_ that's the kind of a spark I like. He's open-handed, I tell you!" "He ain't like mine," said Jean Ficelle; "he flung me a paltry two-franc piece for trotting about more than two hours." "Mine gave me even less than that," said Paul; "and yet I had to wait a long while in several places." "Ah! my patron's the boy for me," continued Sans-Cravate; "he's a jolly fellow, and a good one, too! He enjoys himself and wants other people to do the same. Yes, he's a good fellow; let's drink to the health of Monsieur Albert Vermoncey." "That's the talk! Here's to him!" "Well, Paul, aren't you going to drink?" "I'm not thirsty." "Does that prevent your drinking? Come on!" "No; I've no desire to get drunk." "Bah! what a soft-head! You're not a man, then; you're an old woman! As if a man ever refused to drink with friends!" "No, no," said Jean Ficelle, who was doing his best to set Sans-Cravate against his young comrade; "he insults us." "A man never refuses to drink," said Monsieur Laboussole, touching his glass to Paul's; but the young messenger took his glass and threw it on the floor, saying: "I don't choose to drink with you, I say!" The man with the shapeless hat seemed to view this rebuff with indifference, and contented himself with the retort: "Young man, he who breaks glasses--you know the rest, don't you?" But Sans-Cravate, inflamed by the wine he had drunk, sprang to his feet, crying: "_Sacrédié!_ I don't like such manners myself, and if it had been anybody else---- But you'd better not do it again, or----" "Well, what?" cried Bastringuette, rising also, and planting herself in front of Sans-Cravate; "are we going to kick up a row? If we are, why, I'll make more noise than you! Who ever heard of getting mad with a friend because he didn't want to drink? Ain't Paul his own master? For my part, I say he's quite right not to get drunk like you people! When you're drunk, you're just like brutes, you're good for nothing but fighting; and if you think anybody loves you, why, you're damnably mistaken!"