Marillac took the long, dark tress and held it near the candle; but his movement was so poorly calculated that the hair caught fire and was instantly destroyed.
“A bad sign,” exclaimed Gerfaut, who could not help laughing at his friend’s dismayed look.
“This is a day of autos-de-fe,” said the artist, dropping into a chair; “but bah! small loss; if Reine asks to see this lock, I will tell her that I destroyed it with kisses. That always flatters them, and I am sure it will please this little field-flower. It is a fact that she has cheeks like rosy apples! On my way back I thought of a vaudeville that I should like to write about this. Only I should lay the scene in Switzerland and I should call the young woman Betty or Kettly instead of Reine, a name ending in ‘Y’ which would rhyme with Rutly, on account of local peculiarities. Will you join in it? I have almost finished the scenario. First scene—Upon the rising of the curtain, harvesters are discovered—”
“Will you do me the favor of going to bed?” interrupted Gerfaut.
“Chorus of harvesters:
Deja l’aurore
Qui se colore—”
“If you do not leave me alone, I will throw the contents of this water-pitcher at your head.”
“I never have seen you in such a surly temper. It looks indeed as if your divinity had treated you cruelly.”
“She has treated me shamefully!” exclaimed the lover, whose anger was freshly kindled at this question; “she has treated me as one would treat a barber’s boy. This note, which I just burned, was a most formal, unpleasant, insolent dismissal. This woman is a monster, do you understand me?”
“A monster! your angel, a monster!” said Marillac, suppressing with difficulty a violent outburst of laughter.