“You owe me no gratitude,” said I to her; “your daughter is clever, good, and beautiful.”
“Thank the gentleman for his compliment,” said the mother, “for you are really stupid, wanton, and ugly;” and then she added, “But how could you have the face to sit at table with the gentleman in a dirty chemise?”
“I should blush, mother, if I thought you were right; but I put a clean one on only two hours ago.”
“Madam,” said I to the mother, “the chemise cannot look white beside your daughter’s whiter skin.”
This made the mother laugh, and pleased the girl immensely. When the mother told her that she was come to take her back, Veronique said, with a sly smile,—
“Perhaps the gentleman won’t be pleased at my leaving him twenty-four hours before he goes away.”
“On the contrary,” said I, “I should be very vexed.”
“Well; then, she can stay, sir,” said the mother; “but for decency’s sake I must send her younger sister to sleep with her.”
“If you please,” I rejoined. And with that I left them.
The thought of Veronique troubled me, as I knew I was taken with her, and what I had to dread was a calculated resistance.