"Of course."
"His daughter, Celestine."
"--tine.
What next?"
"Colonel Sainval."
"Sainval is stale.
I should say Valsin."
Beside the vaudeville aspirants, another group, which was also taking advantage of the uproar to talk low, was discussing a duel. An old fellow of thirty was counselling a young one of eighteen, and explaining to him what sort of an adversary he had to deal with.
"The deuce!
Look out for yourself.
He is a fine swordsman.
His play is neat.
He has the attack, no wasted feints, wrist, dash, lightning, a just parade, mathematical parries, bigre! and he is left-handed."
In the angle opposite Grantaire, Joly and Bahorel were playing dominoes, and talking of love.
"You are in luck, that you are," Joly was saying.
"You have a mistress who is always laughing."
"That is a fault of hers," returned Bahorel.
"One's mistress does wrong to laugh.
That encourages one to deceive her.
To see her gay removes your remorse; if you see her sad, your conscience pricks you."