"You think so?" answered the Creole: "this bandana suits my hair?"
"Every day I find you still more handsome."
"And see how white my arm is."
"Monster! go away! go away!" cried Jacques Ferrand, furiously.
Cecily laughed immoderately.
"No, no, this is suffering too much! Oh! if I did not fear death!" cried the notary, in a hollow voice; "but to die—to renounce the sight of you, so handsome. I prefer to suffer, and see you—"
"See me; this wicket is made for that, and, also, that we can talk as friends, and thus charm our solitude; which, in truth, does not weigh heavily, you are so good a master! See what dangerous confessions I can make through this door."
"And will you not open this door? Yet see how submissive I am! to-night I might have tried to enter with you into your chamber—I did not."
"You are submissive for two reasons. In the first place, you know that being, from necessity, in the habit of wearing a dirk, I handle with a firm hand this venomous plaything, sharper than the tooth of a viper; you know also, that on the day I complain of you, I shall leave forever this house, leaving you a thousand time more charmed, since you have been so gracious toward your unworthy servant as to be charmed with her."
"My servant? it is I who am your slave—your slave, mocked, despised."