“What did he say?”
“He said, ‘All you need, my friend, is a little more polish, and you will be a perfect devil with the ladies.’”
I stared at her, my mouth open, for she had caught Dubosq’s intonation to a shade.
“And then he leered,” she added, “and twisted his mustaches. But the most disgusting thing is that you believed him, and you smirked and would have twisted your mustaches too, but that you are too young to have any. Oh, men are all alike—foul, despicable creatures! And then you come here, riding very erect, those words repeating themselves over and over in your bosom—and you pretend——” She broke off suddenly, and turned upon me furiously. “Are you in the habit of attacking young women in that fashion?” she demanded.
“No, mademoiselle,” I stammered, shrinking from this terrific assault which touched every joint in my armor. “I have never before kissed a young woman.”
She looked at me again, caught her breath, her hand against her heart; and then she blushed and smiled and her eyes grew very tender. By some miracle I had found the answer that turned away wrath.
“There, M. de Tavernay,” she said, holding out her hand impulsively, “I forgive you from my heart. We shall be friends. And forget that nonsense I was talking.”
I bent and kissed the fingers, so warm, so soft, so fragrant.
“If I might have a pledge of it,” I said, with sudden boldness. “That flower at your breast——”
“Nonsense!” she cried. “You need no pledge of it. And now,” she added, “I must be going in. Madame will be terribly scandalized.”