He said he had never spent
such an agitated night as the one at Vernon. So I said No, the fleas
were horrid. He said he had not meant _them_; he meant that the sight
of my beautiful hair hanging down had caused him "_une grande emotion_"
and "_reves delicieux_."
There was an oldish girl next to him whom he knew; she has coiffed St.
Catherine for several years now, and was put at our table, I believe,
to be a kind of chaperon. She happened to be listening just then, as
her partner would talk to Victorine's friend--the pretty one with the
dirty nails--who was at his other side. She caught the word "fleas,"
and at once asked what we were talking about. "Un sujet si
desagreable," she said. I said it was about our journey on the
_Sauterelle_, where, at Vernon, Monsieur de la Tremors had been so
badly bitten by the fleas that they had given him silly dreams. He said
his dreams were as beautiful as those produced by the Hachis of Monte
Cristo (whatever that is), so the old girl exclaimed, "Quel pouvoir
pour une puce!" She thought we were mad; and I overheard her presently
telling her partner--when she could get him to listen--that no one
would believe the _bizarre_ conversations of the _toques_ English
unless they actually heard them!
[Sidenote: _The Cotillon_]
I would not say I would dance the _cotillon_ with the Vicomte.
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