Mademoiselle Chichette wore a silk dress of faded pink, a long cloak trimmed with fur, and a sort of little toque of green velvet, with silk tassels and bows of the same color, which fell over her left ear. Her costume was not new, but her plump face was prettier than ever under the velvet toque, and her astonishment at finding herself in such fine array gave an almost piquant expression to her eyes. Daréna grasped all this at a glance. “That miserable Poterne bought everything at the Temple!” he muttered. “However, the little one is very pretty, luckily, and if my young Cupid doesn’t take fire, I shall begin to believe that there’s something wrong in his make-up.” Poterne nudged Mademoiselle Chichette with his knee, calling her attention with his eyes to the young man who had seated himself behind her. The supposititious Pole turned, and after eying Chérubin, she murmured: “He’s very pretty--almost as pretty as my little pays!” Chérubin, on his side, glanced at the lady in front of him, and whispered to Daréna: “Pray look at that pretty creature, my dear fellow!” Daréna put his head forward, pretended to be moved to admiration, and replied: “Upon my word, I never saw anything so perfect! The freshness of the rose and the splendor of the lily! She’s a pearl! At your age I would have stormed the moon to possess that woman.” Chérubin made no reply, but he paid much more attention to the young lady in the green cap than to the play that was being performed. For her part, Mademoiselle Chichette, faithful to her instructions, turned constantly to look at Chérubin. Her glances lasted so long sometimes that Poterne was compelled to pull her dress, and whisper: “That’s enough, you’re going too far! Anyone would think that you did nothing else on the boulevards.” After some time Daréna said to his young friend: “It seems to me that you are making progress, and that your business with this rose-bud is in a fair way to end in a bargain.” “Why, it is true, she does look at me rather often. I don’t know whether I ought to hope.” “You don’t know! What in the devil more do you expect a woman to do at first sight than to return your glances--yes, and with big interest! You have made a conquest of her, that is evident.--Gad! what a lucky fellow you are! I have an idea that she’s a foreigner; that man isn’t a Frenchman; he must be her husband.” “Do you think so?” “However, he has a very respectable look.” “Do you think so?” “It seems to me that nobody can help seeing it.” During the entr’acte Monsieur Poterne did not fail to leave the box, alone; Daréna followed him at once, saying to Chérubin: “Here’s an excellent opportunity to start a conversation. Go at it boldly.” “Do you think that I might?” “I promise you that the lady wishes it too. You see it is hard to be more hideous than that man who was with her, and she would not be his wife if she did not deceive him.”