Thérèse. Would you like me to send you some more stories like the first?
Madame Nérisse. As many as you can.
Thérèse. And—[She hesitates a moment] and would you pay me the same price for them as for the one you've just published?
Madame Nérisse. Yes, exactly the same; and I shall be very glad to get them. I like your work; you have an exceptionally light touch; people won't get tired of reading your stuff.
Thérèse. Oh, I hope that's true! I'm going to tell you some bad news. For family reasons my godfather and godmother are going to leave Paris. I shall stay here by myself, and I shall have to live by my pen.
Madame Nérisse. What an idea!
Thérèse. It's not an idea, it's a necessity.
Madame Nérisse. What do you mean? A necessity? Monsieur Guéret—. But I mustn't be inquisitive.
Thérèse. You're not inquisitive, and I'll tell you all about it very soon; we haven't got time now. Can you promise to take a weekly article from me?
Madame Nérisse [with less confidence] Certainly.