"Look, George, look! A devil moth! It has the eyes of a demon. Do you see them shine?"
Hippolyte pointed to a moth larger than the others, strange in appearance, covered with a thick red flush, with projecting eyes which, under the light, glittered like two carbuncles.
"It's coming on you! It's coming on you! Take care!"
She laughed heartily, making fun of the instinctive alarm that George exhibited, in spite of himself, when one of these insects threatened to alight on him. "I must have it!" she cried, with the rapture of a childish caprice.
And she tried to capture the diabolical moth, which, without settling, flew around the lamp. Her attempts, abrupt and violent, were unsuccessful. She upset a glass, knocked over a pyramid of fruit, almost smashed the lamp-shade.
"What fury!" said George, who wanted to excite her. "But you won't succeed."
"I shall succeed," replied Hippolyte obstinately, and looking fixedly at him. "Will you make a bet?"
"What shall we bet?"
"Anything you like."
"Well, then, a love game."