"Quite well."

"You see Chevalier has come to keep you company. It is kind of him,
isn't it?"

"Oh, Chevalier! Well, let him come to the table."

And, without replying further to her mother's questions, she began to
eat, greedy and charming, like Ceres in the old woman's house. Then she
pushed aside her plate, and leaning back in her chair, with half-closed
eyes, and parted lips, she smiled a smile that was akin to a kiss.

Madame Nanteuil, having drunk her glass of mulled wine, rose to her feet.

"You will excuse me, Monsieur Chevalier, I have my accounts to bring up
to date."

This was the formula which she usually employed to announce that she was
going to bed.

Left alone with Félicie, Chevalier said to her angrily:

"I know I'm a fool and a groveller; but I'm going mad for love of you.
Do you hear, Félicie?"

"I should think I do hear. You needn't shout like that!"

"It's ridiculous, isn't it?"

"No, it's not ridiculous, it's----"