“You do not really think so,” I interrupted; “but let it pass.”
“Besides, you are very young.”
“Not so young as you, mademoiselle.”
“Oh, I am immensely older. I am an elder sister who must take you in hand and form you.”
“Oh, everybody wishes to form me,” I cried, impatiently. “I have no desire to be formed—I will form myself.”
“Who wished to form you?” she demanded quickly with a peremptoriness that astonished me.
“Why, old Dubosq,” I answered. “The fellow who halted me just out of Tours.”
She breathed a sigh of relief which astonished me even more than had her question.
“He was a man, that fellow,” I added. “I should like to meet him again—a dashing rascal.”
“Of course—he flattered you,” she said, looking at me coolly. “I know what he said to you as well as though I had heard him say it.”