"Indeed, monsieur, you said so."
"And yet, Monsieur George, you never set your foot in my house."
"I beg you, monsieur, do not attribute my reserve to either ingratitude or forgetfulness."
"What, then, should I attribute it to?"
"Come, Monsieur George, be frank—you love my daughter."
The young man trembled from head to foot. His color left his cheeks, paleness and blushes alternated with each other. Finally he answered Lebrenn with a tremulous and moved voice:
"It is true, monsieur. I love mademoiselle, your daughter."
"So that, your work in my shop being done, you did not return to my house out of fear that your love might carry you away?"
"Yes, monsieur."