There is a theory that everything has its counterpart; if true, Denys it would seem had found the mind his consigne fitted.
While he was roaring with laughter at its unexpected success and Gerard's amazement, a little hand pulled his jerkin and a little face peeped round his waist. Curiosity was now the dominant passion in that small but vivid countenance.
“Est-ce toi qui l'a tue, beau soldat?”
“Oui, ma mie,” said Denys, as gruffly as ever he could, rightly deeming this would smack of supernatural puissance to owners of bell-like trebles. “C'est moi. Ca vaut une petite embrassade—pas?”
“Je crois ben. Aie! aie!”
“Qu'as-tu?”
“Ca pique! ca pique!”
“Quel dommage! je vais la couper.”
“Nein, ce n'est rien; et pisque t'as tue ce mechant. T'es fierement beau, tout d' meme, toi; t'es lien miex que ma grande soeur.
“Will you not kiss me, too, ma mie?” said Gerard.