"You must know that we have parents.
Parents--you do not know much about such things.
They are called fathers and mothers by the civil code, which is puerile and honest.
Now, these parents groan, these old folks implore us, these good men and these good women call us prodigal sons; they desire our return, and offer to kill calves for us.Being virtuous, we obey them.
At the hour when you read this, five fiery horses will be bearing us to our papas and mammas.
We are pulling up our stakes, as Bossuet says.
We are going; we are gone.We flee in the arms of Lafitte and on the wings of Caillard.The Toulouse diligence tears us from the abyss, and the abyss is you, O our little beauties!
We return to society, to duty, to respectability, at full trot, at the rate of three leagues an hour.It is necessary for the good of the country that we should be, like the rest of the world, prefects, fathers of families, rural police, and councillors of state.
Venerate us.
We are sacrificing ourselves.Mourn for us in haste, and replace us with speed.
If this letter lacerates you, do the same by it.
Adieu.
"For the space of nearly two years we have made you happy.We bear you no grudge for that. "Signed: BLACHEVELLE. FAMUEIL. LISTOLIER. FELIX THOLOMYES.
"Postscriptum.
The dinner is paid for."
The four young women looked at each other.
Favourite was the first to break the silence.
"Well!" she exclaimed, "it's a very pretty farce, all the same."
"It is very droll," said Zephine.
"That must have been Blachevelle's idea," resumed Favourite."It makes me in love with him.