“Thank you! In order that I should be just a wee bit preferred to his tailor?”
“M. de Rochemaure?”
“What, that model red-tapist?—and I who have a perfect horror of red tape!”
And when the disquiet which Rosalie showed pushed her to the wall, for she wished to know everything and interrogated her closely:
“What I should like to do,” said the young girl, while a faint flame like a fire in straw rose into the pallor of her complexion, “what I should like to do—” Then in a changed voice and with an expression of fun:
“I should like to marry Bompard! Yes, Bompard; he is the husband of my dreams—at any rate he has imagination, that fellow, and some resources against deadly dulness!”
She rose to her feet and passed up and down the room with that gait, a little inclined over, which made her seem even taller than her figure warranted. People did not recognize Bompard’s worth; but what pride and what dignity of existence were his, and, with all his craziness, what logic!
“Numa wanted to give him a place in the office close to him; but he would not take it, he preferred to live in honor of his chimera. And people actually accuse the South of France of being practical and industrious!—but there is the man to give that legend the lie. Why, look here—he was telling me this the other night at the ball—he is going to brood out ostrich eggs—an artificial brood machine—he is positive that he will make millions,—and he is far more happy than if he had those millions! Why, it is a perpetual life in fairy-land with a man of that sort. Let them give me Bompard; I want nobody but Bompard!”
“Well, well, I see I shall learn nothing more to-day either,” said the big sister to herself, who divined underneath these lively sallies something deep down below.
One Sunday when she reached her old home Rosalie found Mme. Le Quesnoy awaiting her in the vestibule, who told her with an air of mystery: