"In any case, monsieur le comte, it is always prudent not to go out at night unless you are well armed; for my part, I don't dare to go to the theatre at the Hôtel de Bourgogne, because it ends too late! It's half-past eight sometimes when they finish the beautiful tragedy of _Sophonisbé_, by Monsieur Mairet, which I would have liked to see, all the same!" "_Sophonisbé!_ Faith! I prefer his last tragedy, the _Duc d'Ossone_--the verses are more sonorous, the subject more warlike.--What say you, monsieur le comte?" "I do not go to the play." "Where in the devil does the Spaniard go?" thought Passedix, draping himself in his cloak; "never to the court, never to a wine shop, never to the play! He wants to make us think that he's always shut up with some petticoat!" And the Gascon swayed to and fro on his chair and caressed his chin, as he continued: "For my part, I am a great frequenter of the theatre." "You go to Brioché's theatre on Pont Neuf!" laughed Madame Cadichard; "there's a show outside; that doesn't cost anything!" "I go where I choose, madame! It seems to me that I am entitled to. Brioché's marionettes are not to be despised, and the proof is that great crowds go there--leaders of society and idlers, _belles dames_ and _bourgeoises_. But that does not interfere with my being one of the most assiduous spectators at the Hôtel de Bourgogne; I know all Alexandre Hardy's plays, and I believe he has written over six hundred; he is my favorite author, and I prefer him to this Jean Mairet, who is laden with favors by the Cardinal de Richelieu, the Duc de Longueville, and the Comte de Soissons, because he has written a dozen or so of tragedies! A fine showing, forsooth, beside Hardy's six hundred plays!--Ah! cadédis! if I had ever undertaken to write, it would have been a different story!--But I prefer the sword to the pen; one must not derogate from his rank!" At that moment, an old servant of more than sixty years, whose skin had such a dark-yellow tinge that she might at need have been passed off as a Moor, entered the room and approached the stranger. It was Popelinette, just returned from performing her commission. "Here are all the things you told me to get, monsieur le comte--gloves, perfumery--the nicest and daintiest I could find; and _mouches_ and paint; and here is the money that is left." "Very good; keep that for your trouble." "Oh! you are very kind, monseigneur! I thank you very humbly!" "Does the fellow mean to disguise himself as a woman?" Passedix thought, glancing furtively at Popelinette's purchases, which she had placed on a table. "Paint! _mouches!_ perfumery! Fie, fie! all those things do very well for shepherds in Arcady. I begin to conceive a very singular opinion of this Spaniard!" "It took you a very long time to do the errand monsieur le comte gave you to do!" said the plump Cadichard to her servant. "You must try to make your legs work a little livelier when you go out."