“Because you flaunt round so with the light.”
“Where? When? How do I flaunt round with a light? I always take a lantern when I go into the stable.”
The policeman laughed, and said,—“There! there, with your brown sparklers. There you flaunt with the light—your eyes—they are like two fire-balls.”
“Get out of the way then, lest I burn you. You may be blown up with the powder in your pocket-flask.”
“There is nothing there,” said the policeman, embarrassed. “But you have singed me already.”
“I do not see it. You are all whole. Enough of this. Let me go.”
“I do not keep you. You may live to torment some poor man yet.”
“No one need have me,” said Amrie, and escaped as though a chain which held her had suddenly broken. She stood in the door where many spectators had gathered, and as a new tune began, she rocked backward and forward in harmony with the melody. The consciousness of having trumped the policeman, made her contented with the whole world. He soon appeared again, however, and placing himself behind Amrie, addressed every word to her. She did not answer, and appeared not to hear him, while she nodded to the dancers as they waltzed near her. At length he said,—“When I make up my mind to marry, I will take thee.”
“How take me?” she answered. “If I give myself, it will not be to thee!”
The policeman was glad to get any answer, and he continued, “If I only were allowed to dance, I would instantly dance with you.”