"Say, rather, that I tremble for your sincerity; it will have to be so great, so rare, to stand my test."
"You need have no fears, I will vouch for it, mademoiselle."
"Well, monsieur, what do you think of my appearance?"
"Mademoiselle," stammered Olivier, who was not in the least prepared for such a brusque and embarrassing question; "really—I—"
"Ah, you see that you dare not say what you think, monsieur," exclaimed Ernestine, gaily. "But wait, to put you quite at your ease, let us suppose that on leaving this entertainment you should meet one of your friends, and in telling him about the young ladies you danced with, what would you say about me if you should happen to remember that I was one of your partners?"
"Well, mademoiselle," responded Olivier, who had partially recovered from his surprise, "I should merely say to my friend, 'I saw a young lady whom nobody asked to dance. This interested me in her, so I engaged her for the next quadrille, not supposing that our conversation would prove particularly interesting, for not knowing the young lady at all, I had nothing but commonplaces to say to her. But quite the contrary. Thanks to my partner, our conversation was extremely animated, and the time passed like a dream.'"
"And what if your friend should perhaps ask if this young lady was pretty or ugly?"
"I should say that I had not been able to distinguish her features very well from a distance," replied Olivier, intrepidly, "but on seeing her closer, and looking at her more attentively, and more particularly after I had heard her talk, I found her face so gentle and kind and characterised by such an expression of winning frankness that I ceased to think that she was not pretty. But I should add, still speaking to my friend, of course: 'Do not repeat these remarks made to you in confidence, for it is only women of great good sense and amiability who ask for, or forgive, sincerity.' It is consequently only to a very discreet friend that I should say this, mademoiselle."
"I thank you so much, monsieur. I am grateful, you have no idea how grateful, for your frankness," said Mlle. de Beaumesnil, in such a sincere and earnest voice that Olivier, surprised and touched in spite of himself, gazed at the girl with lively interest.
Just then the dance ended, and Olivier took Ernestine back to Herminie, who was waiting for her; then, impressed by the singular character of the young girl with whom he had just danced, he withdrew himself a little apart to think over their strange conversation.