"What has come over me—" answered Pradeline, quickly recovering her composure and wonted nonchalance, "what has come over me is that your horrible cigar has burnt me—but that's no matter. You were saying, darling, that your love is located in St. Denis Street? Well, now I have something to go by; but not yet enough."
"And you shall not learn any more, my little beauty."
"The pest take this cigar!" exclaimed Pradeline, again shaking her head. "It will blister me! It will blister me surely!"
"Would you like some cold water?"
"No, it will soon be over. So, then, your love lives in St. Denis Street. You should also let me know—is the place at the head or the foot of the street? There is quite some difference between the head and the foot of a street, you must admit. The proof is, that the prices of the shops are dear at one end and cheap at the other. According as the rent runs high or low, a lover's generosity must keep step and be proportionately great or less so. You can not get over this positive fact."
"It is a very positive fact. Well, I shall confide to you that my love lives not far from the St. Denis Gate."
"I need put no further questions to render my opinion," said Pradeline with a voice that she was at great pains to modulate into comical tones. Nevertheless, a closer observer than the Count of Plouernel would have noticed a vague shadow of uneasiness flit over the otherwise gay girl.
"First of all—you should—" but, suddenly breaking off, the young girl said:
"Someone raps at the door, darling."