"It is an important occasion," said he. "But, really, you are simply astonishing, little one."
"Là, là, là!"
Jean had an artistic sense, and Mlle. Fouchette now appealed to it. He watched her skipping about the place and tried to reconcile this sweet, bright-eyed, light-hearted creature with the woman he had known as "La Savatière."
"Que diable! but she is—well, what in the name of all the goddesses has come over the girl, anyhow? It can't be that Lerouge—yet she didn't want to have him see her here."
Conscious of this scrutiny, Fouchette would have been compelled to retreat to the kitchen on some pretext if she had not got this occasional shelter by necessity. She was so happy. Her heart was so light she could not be quite certain if she were really on the earth or not. Never had Jean looked so handsome to her.
"Dame! It is nothing," she said and repeated over and over to herself,—"it is nothing; and yet I am surely the happiest girl in the world. Oh, when he looks at me with his beautiful eyes like that I feel as if I could fly! Mon Dieu! but if he touched me now I should faint! I should die!"
A vigorous ring at the door smote her ear. She trembled.
"Well, why don't you go, melon?" He spoke with a sharpness that fell on her like a blow.
She fumbled nervously at her apron-strings.
"Go as you are, stupid!"