“If you call me Gringalet, I’ll punch your head, do you understand?” “Oho! how ugly the little rascal is! What have you been treading on to-day?” “I may be small without being a Gringalet, or a wretch. I am seventeen years, eight months and ten days.” “You look as if you were about twelve or less!” “The looks make no difference; I am not a child any more, and I don’t propose to be treated like an urchin.” “Ah! you wish to be looked up to, perhaps?” “If anyone insults me, he must fight me.” “Tell me what you have eaten this morning? You are not so ugly as this usually!” “But you are teasing me! saying things that make me angry!” “Then as I am in the wrong, thrash me right away and let’s have it over with! But I don’t propose to fight with you, because I am your friend, and I like you with all your ill-humor! Come, strike me!” As he spoke, Chicotin Patatras--for such was the name of this last individual--coolly planted himself in front of his friend, and stooped as if he were all ready to be beaten. But when he saw that, Georget rose, his anger vanished, and he offered his hand to his comrade, saying: “Can you think of such a thing? I, strike you! that would be pretty! Come, it is all over, I am not angry any more; nor you either, are you?” “Oh! I haven’t been at all!” “You see, Chicotin, there are many people who say that you are a ne’er-do-well, a brawler, and a sot; they have nicknamed you Patatras, because wherever you go, you always arrive like a bomb and turn everything topsy-turvy! But I do you justice, and I have always defended you; and if you are noisy, and if you do sometimes throw a whole company into confusion, you have a good heart all the same, and when you are fond of anybody, he can always rely on you.” “Pardi! a man is a good friend, or he isn’t. A door is open or shut, one or the other! that’s all I know!--Well, will you go to the Folies-Dramatiques with me to-night? I’ll treat you; I have some cash; I carried a bouquet to the young lady! Ah! bless my soul! that bouquet evidently gave pleasure, for she put five francs in my hand; the gentleman had given me as much! in all, two hind wheels, six times as much as the bouquet was worth! But these lovers! tell me who else is so generous, when they are satisfied, and are in funds? ‘Tis love, love, love, that makes the world go round!” “Oh, yes! the rich lovers, they are happy enough! they can make their sweethearts handsome presents!”