"See how she takes his part!" exclaimed Jean Ficelle; "if you was in love with the man, it wouldn't be any worse." "If I'm in love with anyone," retorted Bastringuette, "it ain't with you, that's sure!" Sans-Cravate, who was getting more and more excited, and whose jealousy was beginning to blaze under the influence of Jean Ficelle's hints and malicious remarks, seized the girl's arm, as she stood beside him, and shook her roughly. "It seems to me, also," he cried, "that you take up my comrade's defence much too warmly! Do you know, I don't like that. Does it mean that you're inclined to play tricks on me?" Bastringuette, with a violent wrench, released her arm from the hand that held it; and snatching a plate from the table, held it over Sans-Cravate's head, as if to strike him with it. Her face was pale, her eyebrows drew together, her eyes flashed fire. There was in her wrath something which embellished her features and almost imparted distinction to them; everyone was impressed, and Sans-Cravate stood perfectly still, apparently resigned to receive the threatened blow. "I ought to break this plate over your head," said Bastringuette; "yes, that I ought, to teach you to shake my arm like that! If I still loved you, I'd do it; but as I don't love you any more, I forgive you." As she spoke, she put the plate back on the table. Sans-Cravate glanced at her with a disturbed expression, and said in a faltering tone: "Ah! you don't love me any more?" "No," rejoined Bastringuette, dwelling upon every word. "I am outspoken. I don't propose to play tricks on you, as you seem to fear. But from this moment I am not your mistress; I take back my liberty." "What! do you mean it?" "Oh! I don't make any mystery of it, you see; I say it right out before everybody." "But----" "But what? We ain't bound together in such a way that we can't separate. Would you rather have me do like the women in society? stay with you, when I don't love you, and deceive you all day? That ain't my style." "If you don't love me any more, then you must love somebody else!" "_Pardi!_ that's easy to guess!" muttered Jean Ficelle. "No matter who I love! it's none of your business! Love whoever you please! I don't care a hair of monsieur's whiskers!" And the tall girl pointed to Laboussole, who smiled and caressed his whiskers, saying: "All women don't talk that way." "Ah! so that's how it is!" cried Sans-Cravate, emptying his glass; while Bastringuette resumed her seat at the table, apparently much calmer. "All right! as you choose! To the devil with love, and women! Let's have a drink, my friends; let's have a drink!" "But it's late," said Paul; "I hear them closing downstairs. Aren't we going now, Sans-Cravate?" "Go, if you choose--I am going to stay, with my friends, with my true friends!" retorted Sans-Cravate, glaring angrily at the young man. "No; you are going with me; you have had enough to drink; you mustn't get drunk!"