"But were you not taught by the good sisters that those things are of the devil?" asked Gouache with a smile.
"Of course. But Flavia says they are very nice."
Gouache imagined that Flavia ought to know, but he thought fit to conceal his conviction.
"You mean Donna Flavia, your sister, Mademoiselle?"
"Yes."
"I suppose you are very fond of her, are you not? It must be very pleasant to have a sister so nearly of one's own age in the world."
"She is much older than I, but I think we shall be very good friends."
"Your family must be almost as much strangers to you as the rest of the world," observed Gouache. "Of course you have only seen them occasionally for a long time past. You are fond of reading, I see."
He made this remark to change the subject, and glanced at the book the young girl still held in her hand.
"It is a new book," she said, opening the volume at the title-page. "It is Manon Lescaut. Flavia has read it—it is by the Abbe Prevost. Do you know him?"