“Ah! very well, then,” said Malicorne; “I believe I begin to desire something.”
“And what do you desire, Monsieur Demon? That I should lose my soul from anger?”
Malicorne was rolling his hat respectfully between his fingers; but, all at once, he let fall his hat, seized the young girl by the shoulders, pulled her towards him and sealed her mouth with two lips that were very warm, for a man pretending to so much indifference. Aure would have cried out, but the cry was stifled in the kiss. Nervous and, apparently, angry, the young girl pushed Malicorne against the wall.
“Good!” said Malicorne, philosophically, “that’s enough for six weeks. Adieu, mademoiselle, accept my very humble salutation.” And he made three steps towards the door.
“Well! no,—you shall not go!” cried, Montalais, stamping with her little foot. “Stay where you are! I order you!”
“You order me?”
“Yes; am I not mistress?”
“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.”