"What! Louise Collard?"
"Yes."
"Well, I never!"
The notion of composing poetry to Louise Collard, charming though she was, had never come into my head. Louise seemed to me still the same pretty child in short frocks with lace-trimmed drawers—nothing more.
"Ah! so you are making verses to Louise, are you: what for?" I went on.
"You know she is going to be married."
"Louise? No, I did not know that. To whom?"
"To a Russian. Therefore the marriage must be prevented." "Prevented?"
"Yes; such a delightful girl must not be allowed to leave France."