"I am at a loss to know what you mean, monsieur," she said.
"Oh! yes, you do, and the half-inch of blush on your cheeks proves it."
"You certainly are mistaken, monsieur."
"Nay, nay! on the contrary, I am perfectly sure of what I say."
"A truce to your jesting, monsieur."
"I am not jesting, monsieur, and if you wish for proofs, you shall have them. I had the honor to meet you, it will soon be three weeks ago, dressed according to your sex, on the banks of the Dordogne, on which occasion you were attended by your faithful squire, Monsieur Pompée. Is Monsieur Pompée still in your service?—Why, yes, there he is now, dear Monsieur Pompée! Will you tell me that I don't know him either?"
The squire and the young woman looked at each other in speechless amazement.
"Oh! yes, that astonishes you, my gallant viscount," Cauvignac continued; "but dare to say that it was not you whom I met on the road to Saint-Martin de Cubzac, a fourth of a league from the hostelry of Master Biscarros."
"I do not deny the meeting, monsieur."
"What did I say?"