Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com 231
‘Yes, I would scream to the police! Ah! I should not re-
strain myself, not at all! Rabble!’
Blachevelle threw himself back in his chair, in an ecstasy,
and closed both eyes proudly.
Dahlia, as she ate, said in a low voice to Favourite, amid
the uproar:—
‘So you really idolize him deeply, that Blachevelle of
yours?’
‘I? I detest him,’ replied Favourite in the same tone, seiz-
ing her fork again. ‘He is avaricious. I love the little fellow
opposite me in my house. He is very nice, that young man;
do you know him? One can see that he is an actor by profes-
sion. I love actors. As soon as he comes in, his mother says
to him: ‘Ah! mon Dieu! my peace of mind is gone. There he
goes with his shouting. But, my dear, you are splitting my
head!’ So he goes up to rat-ridden garrets, to black holes,
as high as he can mount, and there he sets to singing, de-
claiming, how do I know what? so that he can be heard
down stairs! He earns twenty sous a day at an attorney’s
by penning quibbles. He is the son of a former precentor of
Saint-Jacques-du-Haut-Pas. Ah! he is very nice. He idolizes
me so, that one day when he saw me making batter for some
pancakes, he said to me: ‘Mamselle, make your gloves into
fritters, and I will eat them.’ It is only artists who can say
such things as that. Ah! he is very nice. I am in a fair way to
go out of my head over that little fellow. Never mind; I tell
Blachevelle that I adore him—how I lie! Hey! How I do lie!’
Favourite paused, and then went on:—
‘I am sad, you see, Dahlia. It has done nothing but rain