"Well," said Leon, "Matilde's grand DUO must have delighted you. What
do you suppose that charming singer did when she left the stage?"

"She--well, what?"

"She ate two bloody mutton-chops which her servant had ready for her."

"Pooh! nonsense!"

"Malibran kept up on brandy--but it killed her in the end. Another
thing! You have seen the ballet, and you'll now see it defiling past
you in its every-day clothes, without knowing that the face of your
lawsuit depends on a pair of those legs."

"My lawsuit!"

"See, cousin, here comes what is called a marcheuse."

Leon pointed to one of those handsome creatures who at twenty-five
years of age have lived sixty, and whose beauty is so real and so sure
of being cultivated that they make no display of it. She was tall, and
walked well, with the arrogant look of a dandy; her toilet was
remarkable for its ruinous simplicity.

"That is Carabine," said Bixiou, who gave her, as did Leon, a slight
nod to which she responded by a smile.

"There's another who may possibly get your prefect turned out."

"A marcheuse!--but what is that?"