“They don’t make any impression on me,” said the duke, and he shewed us that it was so.
Leonilda looked away, and I felt shocked, but concealed my feelings.
“I am in the same state as you,” said I, “but I will not take the trouble of convincing you.”
“That can’t be,” said he; and passing his hand rapidly over me he assured himself that it was so. “It’s astonishing,” he cried; “you must be as impotent as I am.”
“If I wanted to controvert that assertion one glance into Leonilda’s eyes would be enough.”
“Look at him, dearest Leonilda, that I may be convinced.”
Leonilda looked tenderly at me, and her glance produced the result I had expected.
“Give me your hand,” said I, to the poor duke, and he did so.
“I was in the wrong,” he exclaimed, but when he endeavoured to bring the surprising object to light I resisted. He persisted in his endeavours, and I determined to play on him a trick. I took Leonilda’s hand and pressed my lips to it, and just as the duke thought he had triumphed I besprinkled him, and went off into a roar of laughter. He laughed too, and went to get a napkin.
The girl could see nothing of all this, as it went on under the table; and while my burning lips rested on her hand, my eyes were fixed on hers and our breath mingled. This close contact had enabled me to baptise the duke, but when she took in the joke we made a group worthy of the pen of Aretin.