“Ha, ha! you think you’ll nip me again, do you? Take your paws off!”
“Oh! that’s nothing, my charmer!” exclaimed Zephyrin in his husky, guttural voice. “That’s to show how I love you—in this style, you know—”
But at that moment the door creaked, and Hélène, entering, discovered the diminutive soldier and the servant maid seated very quietly at table, with their noses bent over their plates. They had assumed an air of complete indifference; their innocence was certain. Yet their faces were red with blushes, and their eyes aflame, and they wriggled restlessly on their straw-bottomed chairs. Rosalie started up and hurried forward.
“Madame wants something?”
Hélène had no pretext ready to her tongue. She had come to see them, to chat with them, and have their company. However, she felt a sudden shame, and dared not say that she required nothing.
“Have you any hot water?” she asked, after a silence.
“No, madame; and my fire is nearly out. Oh, but it doesn’t matter; I’ll give you some in five minutes. It boils in no time.”
She threw on some charcoal, and then set the kettle in place; but seeing that her mistress still lingered in the doorway, she said:
“I’ll bring the water to you in five minutes, madame.”
Hélène responded with a wave of the hand.