"Ah, çà!"
She was blushing,—painfully, because she knew that she was blushing. He put his arm about her waist and attempted to kiss her.
"No, no, no!" she cried, with an air of vexation,—"go away!"
"But you are really artistic, Fouchette. I must have a sitting of you in that costume."
He had made several sketches of her head, she serving as a model for Mlle. Remy. Only, he filled them out to suit his ideal. Mlle. Fouchette saw this; yet she was always pleased to pose for him.
"That is, if you are good," he added, in his condescending way.
"Have no fear,—I'll be good."
"Une bonne bonne, say."
"Bon-bon? Va!"
"And can sit still long enough."