That
Chamber of Horrors at Montmartre, that tavern where Legras sings the
'Flowers of the Streets'--"
"Oh! a delightful spot, madame," interrupted Massot, "I wouldn't take
even a gendarme there."
"No, don't jest, Monsieur Massot, I'm talking seriously. Isn't it quite
allowable for a respectable woman to go there when she's accompanied by a
gentleman?" And, without allowing the journalist time to answer her, she
turned towards Hyacinthe: "There! you see that Monsieur Massot doesn't
say no! You've got to take me there this evening, it's sworn, it's
sworn."
Then she darted away to sell a packet of pins to an old lady, while the
young man contented himself with remarking, in the voice of one who has
no illusions left: "She's quite idiotic with her Chamber of Horrors!"
Massot philosophically shrugged his shoulders. It was only natural that a
woman should want to amuse herself. And when Hyacinthe had gone off,
passing with perverse contempt beside the lovely girls who were selling
lottery tickets, the journalist ventured to murmur: "All the same, it
would do that youngster good if a woman were to take him in hand."
Then, again addressing Pierre, he resumed: "Why, here comes Duthil! What
did Sagnier mean this morning by saying that Duthil would sleep at Mazas
to-night?"
In a great hurry apparently, and all smiles, Duthil was cutting his way
through the crowd in order to join Duvillard and Fonsegue, who still
stood talking near the Baroness's stall.
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