“Ah! yes—­the little fellow with the curly hair and the whiskers, who waits for you at the corner when we leave the workshop.”

“The same—­Achille.”

“Your Achille is nice-looking,” said Mademoiselle Lolotte, with a somewhat critical air.  “It is a pity he squints.”

“He does not squint, mam’selle.”

“Oh, ma chere!  I appeal to Caroline.”

“I am not sure that he actually squints,” said Mam’selle Caroline, speaking for the first time; “but he certainly has one eye larger than the other, and of quite a different color.”

“Tiens, Caroline—­it seems to me that you look very closely into the eyes of young men,” exclaims Adele, turning sharply upon this new assailant.

“At all events you admit that Caroline is right,” cries Lolotte, triumphantly.

“I admit nothing of the kind.  I say that you are both very ill-natured, and that you say what is not true.  As for you, Lolotte, I don’t believe you ever had the chance of seeing a young man’s eyes turned upon you, or you would not be so pleased with the attentions of an old one.”

“An old one!” shrieked Mam’selle Lolotte.  “Ah, mon Dieu!  Is a man old at forty-seven?  Monsieur Durand is in the prime of life, and there isn’t a girl in the Quartier who would not be proud of his attentions!”

“He’s sixty, if an hour,” said the injured Adele.  “And as for you, Caroline, who have never had a beau in your life....”

“Ciel! what a calumny!—­I—­never had a ...  Holy Saint Genevieve! why, it was only last Thursday week....”

Here the train stopped at the Asnieres station, and two privates of the Garde Imperiale got into the carriage.  The horizon cleared as if by magic.  The grisettes suddenly forgot their differences, and began to chat quite amicably.  The soldiers twirled their mustachios, listened, smiled, and essayed to join in the conversation.  In a few minutes all was mirth and flirtation.

Meanwhile Mueller was casting admiring glances on the young girl in the corner, whilst the fat countrywoman, pursing up her mouth, and watching the grisettes and soldiers, looked the image of offended virtue.

“Dame!  Madame,” she said, addressing herself to the old lady in the bonnet, “girls usen’t to be so forward in the days when you and I were young!”

To which the old lady in the bonnet, blandly smiling, replied:—­

“Beautiful, for the time of year.”

“Eh?  For the time of year?  Dame!  I don’t see that the time of year has anything to do with it,” exclaimed the fat countrywoman.

Here the young girl in the corner, blushing and smiling very sweetly, interposed with—­“Pardon, Madame—­my aunt is somewhat deaf.  Pray, excuse her.”

Whereupon the old lady, watching the motion of her niece’s lips, added—­

“Ah, yes—­yes!  I am a poor, deaf old woman—­I don’t understand what you say.  Talk to my little Marie, here—­she can answer you.”