The sight of a public-house, the panes of which were flaming, recalled to him the poet Choulette, who passed for a drunkard.
He asked her if she still saw that Choulette, who called on her wearing a mackintosh and a red muffler.
It annoyed her that he spoke like General Lariviere.

She did not say that she had not seen Choulette since autumn, and that he neglected her with the capriciousness of a man not in society.
"He has wit," she said, "fantasy, and an original temperament.

He pleases me." And as he reproached her for having an odd taste, she replied: "I haven't a taste, I have tastes.

You do not disapprove of them all, I suppose." He replied that he did not criticise her.

He was only afraid that she might do herself harm by receiving a Bohemian who was not welcome in respectable houses.
She exclaimed: "Not welcome in respectable houses--Choulette?
Don't you know that he goes every year for a month to the Marquise de Rieu?
Yes, to the Marquise de Rieu, the Catholic, the royalist.