Du Bousquier revenged himself deliciously for the thousand little shafts he had long borne in silence; but in his triumph he made a lively youthful gesture by running his hands through his hair, and in so doing he--knocked aside his false front.
"I congratulate you both," said the chevalier, with an agreeable air; "and I wish that the marriage may end like a fairy tale: _They were happy ever after, and had--many--children_!" So saying, he took a pinch of snuff.

"But, monsieur," he added satirically, "you forget--that you are wearing a false front." Du Bousquier blushed.

The false front was hanging half a dozen inches from his skull.

Mademoiselle Cormon raised her eyes, saw that skull in all its nudity, and lowered them, abashed.

Du Bousquier cast upon the chevalier the most venomous look that toad ever darted on its prey.
"Dogs of aristocrats who despise me," thought he, "I'll crush you some day." The chevalier thought he had recovered his advantage.