When the young dandy recovered all his faculties, the thing that troubled him most was that he had broken one of his suspenders, and that his trousers on that side were not held in place. “All sorts of misfortunes at once,” cried Alfred; “I have broken my left suspender. But who was it, then, who came down on me like a bomb and pushed me onto that counter?” “Excuse me, master, my excellency, I did it by accident, and not on purpose, for I was fooling with Chopard.” “What, you scoundrel, was it you?--Ah! I recognize you; I have employed you more than once.” “Oh! I remember very well! You are one of those generous and distinguished gentlemen that a man doesn’t forget. I have often opened your carriage door, master, and you are always with such pretty ladies, ladies from the theatre, and so well dressed, that everybody looks at you. Shall I wait at Monsieur Bonvalet’s, master, to see if you want to send me to find out how far they’ve got in the play?” “All right, all right, we’ll see. After all, as he didn’t do it on purpose--And my bouquet, what became of that in the scrimmage?” “Here it is, monsieur,” said Violette; “luckily nothing happened to it.” “It’s my broken suspender that worries me most; my trousers are all creased on that side! I’d give thirty francs for a pair of suspenders.” “Would you like mine, master?” “No, thanks! That would look nice!” “I’ll go and buy you a pair at the druggist’s on Rue du Temple.” “What does the idiot say?” muttered Jéricourt; “suspenders at a druggist’s! do you propose to buy them made of marshmallow paste?” “At all events I can’t stop here any longer,” cried Alfred; “Zizi will make a horrible row; she will be in an infernal humor; and if she sees that my trousers are creased, it will be much worse! And she will see it, for she always looks at them first when I join her; she is so particular about dress; she said to me once: ‘A man who doesn’t have morocco straps to his boots shall never step foot inside my door!’--Well, Jéricourt, are you coming?” Tall Jéricourt decided at last to go away with his friend; for the flower girl, busily engaged in picking up her flowers, did not seem disposed to laugh, and he saw that he must needs abandon the idea of being listened to for that day at least. So he walked away, arm-in-arm with Alfred de Saint-Arthur, who, as he walked, did his utmost to hold his trousers up. When he saw the two young men take their leave, Chicotin Patatras nodded his head to Georget, who was not very far away, and who answered with a smile. And Violette, as she tried to replace her flowers in order upon her counter, did not fail to notice that pantomime. V A CONCIERGE’S LODGE