“Nothing,” answered Micheline, simply. “Tears came to his eyes, and he kissed me. I saw that this delicacy touched his heart and I was happy. There, mamma,” she added with eyes sparkling at the remembrance of the pleasure she had experienced, “he may spend as much as he likes; I am amply repaid beforehand.”
Madame Desvarennes shrugged her shoulders, and said:
“My dear child, you are mad enough to be locked up. What is there about the fellow to turn every woman’s brain?”
“Every woman’s?” exclaimed Micheline, anxiously, looking at her mother.
“That is a manner of speaking. But, my dear, you must understand that I cannot be satisfied with what you have just told me. A tear and a kiss! Bah! That is not worth your dowry.”
“Come, mamma, do let me be happy.”
“You can be happy without committing follies. You do not need a racing-stable.”
“Oh, he has chosen such pretty colors,” interrupted Micheline, with a smile. “Pearl-gray and silver, and pink cap. It is charming!”
“You think so? Well, you are not difficult to please. And the club? What do you say to his gambling?”
Micheline turned pale, and with a constraint which hurt her mother, said: