“You are right,” said Oliva, laughing.
“And here are ten louis to buy it with.”
“Adieu! and thanks.” And she pushed him out, saying, “Quick! he is coming back.”
“But if by chance he should beat you, how will you let me know?”
She reflected a moment. “You have a servant?”
“Yes.”
“Send him here, and let him wait under the window till I let a note fall.”
“I will. Adieu!” And he went up-stairs.
Oliva drowned the sound of his footsteps by calling loudly to Beausire, “Are you coming back, madman?” for he did not seem in much hurry to reencounter his formidable adversary. At last, however, he came up. Oliva was standing outside the door; she pushed him in, locked it, and put the key in her pocket.
Before the stranger left the house, he heard the noise of the combat begin, and both voices loud and furious. “There is no doubt,” said he to himself, “that this woman knows how to take care of herself.” His carriage was waiting for him at the corner of the street, but before getting in he spoke to the footman, who thereupon stationed himself within view of Mademoiselle Oliva’s windows.