“So, then, you think I am very displeasing, Jeanne?”
She bit her lips, as if to punish them for having made a mistake; and then, in a coaxing way, looking at me with great soft eyes, gentle and beautiful as a spaniel’s, she said,
“I know I said a foolish think; but, still, I do not see any reason why you should be so pleasing to Mademoiselle Prefere. And, nevertheless, you seem to please her a great deal—a very great deal. She called me one day, and asked me all sorts of questions about you.”
“Really?”
“Yes; she wanted to find out all about your house. Just think! she even asked me how old your servant was!”
And Jeanne burst out laughing.
“Well, what do you think about it?” I asked.
She remained a long while with her eyes fixed on the worn-out cloth of her shoes, and seemed to be thinking very deeply. Finally, looking up again, she answered,
“I am distrustful. Isn’t it very natural to feel uneasy about what one cannot understand; I know I am foolish; but you won’t be offended with me, will you?”
“Why, certainly not, Jeanne. I am not a bit offended with you.”