“You may take back your brevet, Monsieur Malicorne; I will not leave my friend.”
“Dear Montalais!”
“That is right. Keep your brevet, Mademoiselle de la Valliere shall be a maid of honor.”
“Is that true?”
“Quite true.”
“I may then hope to go to Paris?”
“Depend upon it.”
“Oh! Monsieur Malicorne, what joy!” cried Louise, clapping her hands, and bounding with pleasure.
“Little dissembler!” said Montalais, “try again to make me believe you are not in love with Raoul.”
Louise blushed like a rose in June, but instead of replying, she ran and embraced her mother. “Madame,” said she, “do you know that M. Malicorne is going to have me appointed maid of honor?”