"May I not be allowed to receive it from your fair hands?" he added, looking up in her face with a smile.
"Oh, you tempter," she said, tapping him with her fan. "And where do you hail from, Monsieur, I suppose you come from Paris judging from your accent?"
"No. There you are mistaken. A few years ago I used to live in Paris, but my home is in Montevideo, and I only arrived here a few days ago."
"Entonces usted es Porteno?" she replied, in perfect Spanish.
Pierre muttered something in French quite inappropriate to her question. He recognised his fatal mistake, but it was too late.
She looked at his face with a puzzled expression. "Yes, it is something like him," she thought, "but I shall soon find out."
"Ah! monsieur, monsieur," she replied with a smile, "I can see that you are a born Frenchman, and that you have never been to South America. Now confess it, mon ami."
Pierre saw it was no use temporising, so he frankly admitted it with a laugh. He had quite lost his head in the presence of this charming siren, but although irresistibly attracted by her manners, he nevertheless felt afraid of her. Her face lit up with smiles, but her lips were thin and compressed, and he could feel that she might become a terrible adversary if she had a fit of anger or jealousy.
"You don't seem to be paying much attention to the play, monsieur," she remarked with a smile.
"Well, I confess, madame, you possess charms which far surpass those of the play, and consequently I have been devoting myself exclusively to the enjoyment of your company, instead of watching the actors."