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You others, of course, will please yourselves, but if you take my advice and you especially, Monsieur Lebigre you'll take care not to let your establishment be compromised, or the authorities will close it." At this Logre could not restrain a smile.
In fact he had converted the place almost into a sort of private room of his own, where he left his old coats and books and papers lying about. Monsieur Lebigre had offered no objection to these proceedings; indeed, he had even removed one of the tables to make room for a cushioned bench, on which Florent could have slept had he felt so inclined.
All three kept their eyes fixed on the house opposite with such keen curiosity that they seemed trying to penetrate the very walls. To pass the time away they once more began to talk of the beautiful Norman. "She's without a lover now," remarked Madame Lecoeur. "Oh! she's got Monsieur Lebigre," replied La Sarriette, with a laugh.
One morning, however, at the markets, when a tremendous row broke out between Rose and one of the fish-wives, through the former accidentally knocking over a basket of herrings, Florent heard Rose's employer spoken of as a "dirty spy" in the pay of the police. And after he had succeeded in restoring peace, all sorts of stories about Monsieur Lebigre were poured into his ears.
The incident was forgotten in the discussions which ensued. Since Logre had suggested a conspiracy, Monsieur Lebigre had grasped the hands of the frequenters of the little room with more vigor than ever. Their custom, to tell the truth, was of but small value to him, for they never ordered more than one "drink" apiece.
I may remark that the Fat, so long as they've not grown old, are charming creatures. Monsieur Lebigre is one of the Fat don't you think so? As for your political friends, Charvet, Clemence, Logre, and Lacaille, they mostly belong to the Thin. I only except that big animal Alexandre, and that prodigy Robine, who has caused me a vast amount of annoyance."
"But surely Monsieur Lebigre won't have anything more to say to her." Mademoiselle Saget shrugged her shoulders. "Ah, you don't know him," she said. "He won't care a straw about all this business. He knows what he's about, and La Normande is rich. They'll come together in a couple of months, you'll see. Old Madame Mehudin's been scheming to bring about their marriage for a long time past."
She gave them into the handsome fish-girl's own hands, repeating, as she did so, the wine dealer's prose madrigal: "Monsieur Lebigre begs you to drink this to his health, which has been greatly shaken by you know what. He hopes that you will one day be willing to cure him, by being for him as pretty and as sweet as these flowers." La Normande was much amused by the servant's delighted air.
The poultry dealer asserted that although friend Lebigre hadn't the stuff of an orator in him, they might safely reckon on him when the "shindy" came.
"Why, they're surely fighting together in there," the customer would say, as he put his glass down on the zinc-covered counter, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Oh, there's no fear of that," Monsieur Lebigre tranquilly replied. "It's only some gentlemen talking together."
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