"Just as you like."
They left their box, and were at once swept away by the throng of
promenaders. Pushed, pressed, squeezed, shaken, they went on, having
before their eyes a crowd of hats. The girls, in pairs, passed amidst
this crowd of men, traversing it with facility, gliding between elbows,
chests, and backs as if quite at home, perfectly at their ease, like
fish in water, amidst this masculine flood.
Duroy, charmed, let himself be swept along, drinking in with
intoxication the air vitiated by tobacco, the odor of humanity, and the
perfumes of the hussies. But Forestier sweated, puffed, and coughed.
"Let us go into the garden," said he.
And turning to the left, they entered a kind of covered garden, cooled
by two large and ugly fountains. Men and women were drinking at zinc
tables placed beneath evergreen trees growing in boxes.
"Another bock, eh?" said Forestier.
"Willingly."
They sat down and watched the passing throng.
From time to time a woman would stop and ask, with stereotyped smile:
"Are you going to stand me anything?"
And as Forestier answered: "A glass of water from the fountain," she
would turn away, muttering: "Go on, you duffer."
But the stout brunette, who had been leaning, just before, against the
box occupied by the two comrades, reappeared, walking proudly arm-in-arm
with the stout blonde. They were really a fine pair of women, well
matched.
She smiled on perceiving Duroy, as though their eyes had already told
secrets, and, taking a chair, sat down quietly in face of him, and
making her friend sit down, too, gave the order in a clear voice:
"Waiter, two grenadines!"