"But, madame, I went to the best perfumer on Rue Saint-Honoré, near the Couvent des Capucines; that's a long way." "Monsieur le Chevalier Passedix has been waiting impatiently for you; he needs your help--some buttons to sew on his doublet." "Again!" muttered Popelinette, with a most disrespectful gesture. "What do you mean by that?" cried the Gascon, raising his head; "I should like to know if you are not here to wait upon the tenants? I consider your reply a little impertinent, my girl!" "Mon Dieu! don't be angry, monsieur le chevalier; I don't refuse to do what you want; but I meant that your doublet has been patched and mended so often that the buttons I sew on are likely not to hold, for lack of material to sew them to." "It is easy to see, old Popelinette, that you no longer have your eyes of twenty years! otherwise, you would not abuse thus a garment which is almost new, and which owes the numerous patches that cover it solely to the sword thrusts I have received in single combats and others. But they are titles to renown, and that is why I am fond of this doublet; if I should buy a new one, within a week it would be riddled by sword thrusts as this one is; one doesn't go to the water without getting wet.--Well! my girl, take a needle and thread and let us have done with it, for the day is advancing, and I should already be somewhere else!" The old servant grumblingly took what she needed to repair the Gascon's doublet. For some moments, the stranger had been examining what Popelinette had brought him; at last he carefully replaced all the articles in paper and put them in his pocket one after another, as if he were preparing to take his leave. "Yes, sandioux!" cried Passedix, partly unbuttoning his doublet so that the servant could work more conveniently; "yes, I long to pursue a certain adventure, the heroine of which surpasses the Venus of Medici!" "Oh! monsieur le chevalier makes Venuses out of every retroussé nose he meets!" said Dame Cadichard, shrugging her shoulders. "Do you think so, charming hostess? I should say that I have never given you reason to think that my taste was bad!" The landlady turned her little eyes on the Gascon, like a person who does not know whether she ought to take in good or ill part what is said to her. Passedix continued: "By the way, I made her acquaintance in such singular fashion!--Ah! be careful, Popelinette, you are pricking me as if I were a pincushion!" "Goodness! it isn't my fault, monsieur; you keep moving all the time!" "That is my nature; I could not keep still for a moment; that is due to the heat of my blood--to the smoking lava that flows in my veins! I am a volcano! and then, the image of that Italian was well adapted to make my legs twitch!" "Ah! your conquest is an Italian, is she, monsieur le chevalier?" said the stranger, who had taken a step or two toward the door, but who turned at that and looked at Passedix.