"I had better wait until I am married to Cartouche," replied Fifi innocently.
But waiting was just what the manager did not want. So, still urging her to take sixty francs, they reached the palace.
Fifi had a little note prepared and gave it, together with a pink gilt-bordered card, inscribed "Mademoiselle Josephine Chiaramonti," to the porter at the door. The porter evidently regarded Fifi, and her note and card included, with the utmost disfavor, but, like most underlings, he was well acquainted with his master's private affairs, and knew in a minute who Fifi was, and so, grudgingly went off with her letter and card.
Fifi and Duvernet kept up their argument in the great, gloomy anteroom into which they were ushered. Fifi was saying:
"And if I allow you to bill me as his Holiness' cousin, and you give me seventy-five francs—"
"Sixty, Mademoiselle."
"Seventy-five francs, will you promise always to take my part when I quarrel with Julie Campionet?"
"Good God! What a proposition! I am married to Julie Campionet!"
