"Of my heart and soul, without doubt."
"A pretty property! ma foi! The soul is silly and the heart dry."
"Beware, Montalais, I know you," said Malicorne; "you are going to fall in love with your humble servant."
"Well, yes!" said she, hanging round his neck with childish indolence rather than with loving abandonment. "Well, yes! for I must thank you at least."
"And for what?"
"For the commission; is it not my whole future?"
"And all mine."
Montalais looked at him.
"It is frightful," said she, "that one can never guess whether you are speaking seriously or not."
"I cannot speak more seriously. I was going to Paris—you were going there—we are going there."
"And so it was for that motive only you have served me; selfish fellow!"
"What would you have me say, Aure? I cannot live without you."
"Well! in truth, it is just so with me; you are, nevertheless, it must be confessed, a very bad-hearted young man."
"Aure, my dear Aure, take care! If you take to calling names again, you know the effect they produce upon me, and I shall adore you." And so saying, Malicorne drew the young girl a second time toward him. But at that instant a step resounded on the staircase. The young people were so close that they would have been surprised in the arms of each other, if Montalais had not violently pushed Malicorne, with his back against the door, just then opening. A loud cry, followed by angry reproaches, immediately resounded. It was Mme. de St. Kemy who uttered the cry and proffered the angry words. The unlucky Malicorne almost crushed her between the wall and the door she was coming in at.
"It is again that good-for-nothing!" cried the old lady.
"Always here!"
"Ah, madame!" replied Malicorne, in a respectful tone, "it is eight long days since I was here."
