“Coarse!”
“Come, let us tell the truth to each other, while we are about it.”
“Oh, Malicorne! Bad-hearted man!”
“Oh, Montalais! Ungrateful girl!”
The young man leant with his elbow upon the window-frame; Montalais took a book and opened it. Malicorne stood up, brushed his hat with his sleeve; smoothed down his black doublet,—Montalais, though pretending to read, looked at him out of the corner of her eye.
“Good!” cried she, furious, “he has assumed his respectful air—and he will pout for a week.”
“A fortnight, mademoiselle,” said Malicorne, bowing.
Montalais lifted up her little doubled fist. “Monster!” said she; “oh! that I were a man!”
“What would you do to me?”
“I would strangle you.”