"Say rather, Mademoiselle, that you will not have the book on any terms!" I exclaim impatiently.
"Because you have not yet offered it to me upon any just or reasonable grounds."
"Well, then, bluntly and frankly, as student to student, I beg you to spare me the trouble of carrying this book back to the Boulevard. Yours, Mademoiselle, was the first intention. You saw the book before I saw it. You would have bought it on the spot, but had to go home for the money. In common equity, it is yours. In common civility, as student to student, I offer it to you. Say, is it yes or no?"
"Since you put it so simply and so generously, and since I believe you really wish me to accept your offer," replies Mademoiselle Dufresnoy, taking out her purse, "I suppose I must say--yes."
And with this, she puts out her hand for the hook, and offers me in return the sum of five and twenty francs.
Pained at having to accept the money, pained at being offered it, seeing no way of refusing it, and feel altogether more distress than is reasonable in a man brought up to the taking of fees; I affect not to see the coin, and, bowing, move away in the direction of my own door.
"Pardon, Monsieur," she says, "but you forget that I am in your debt."
"And--and do you really insist..."
She looks at me, half surprised and half offended.
"If you do not take the money, Monsieur, how can I take the book?"