“Monsieur Malicorne!”
“Don’t let us be angry; if you have retained me, then it has not been without cause.”
“It is not, at least, because I love you,” cried Montalais.
“Granted. I will even say that, at this moment, I am certain that you hate me.”
“Oh, you have never spoken so truly.”
“Well, on my part I detest you.”
“Ah! I take the act.”
“Take it. You find me brutal and foolish; on my part I find you have a harsh voice, and your face is too often distorted with anger. At this moment you would allow yourself to be thrown out of that window rather than allow me to kiss the tip of your finger; I would precipitate myself from the top of the balcony rather than touch the hem of your robe. But, in five minutes, you will love me, and I shall adore you. Oh, it is just so.”
“I doubt it.”
“And I swear it.”