So Madame d'Infreville dictated the following in a strangely altered voice, pausing now and then, so great was her emotion.
"'The recollection of the pleasant hours we spent together yesterday is so delightful, my dear Valentine,—though I really can not say that it was in any respect a more charming day than last Wednesday,—that at the risk of seeming both selfish and importunate, I am going to ask you to give me Sunday.'"
"Give me Sunday," repeated Florence, greatly surprised at this beginning.
"'Our programme shall be the same,'" continued
Madame d'Infreville. "Underline programme," she added, with a bitter smile, then resumed:
"'Our programme shall be the same: breakfast at eleven, a stroll in the garden, embroidery, music, and conversation until seven o'clock, then dinner and afterwards a drive in the Bois de Boulogne in an open carriage if the evening is fine, after which I shall take you home at ten o'clock as I did yesterday.
"'Answer me yes or no, but let it be a yes, and you will make very happy your devoted
"'FLORENCE.'"
"Your devoted Florence," repeated Madame de Luceval; then, with a half smile, she added: "It is certainly cruel in you, Valentine, to dictate such a programme to excite my envy and regret; but the time for reproaches or explanations will come presently. I will have my revenge then. Is that all, my dear Valentine?"
"Put my address on the note, seal it, and have it sent to my house at once."