I was sitting in front of the fire between them, and I was sorry at having grieved her.
“I beg pardon, Armelline,” I said, “I only took my hand away because it was not worthy of being carried to your fair lips.”
In spite of this excuse she could not help two big tears coursing down her blushing cheeks. I was greatly pained.
Armelline was a tender dove, not made to be roughly treated. If I did not want her to hate me I felt that I must either not see her at all or treat her more gently for the future.
Her tears convinced me that I had wounded her feelings terribly, and I got up and went out to order some champagne.
When I came back I found that she had been weeping bitterly. I did not know what to do; I begged her again and again to forgive me, and to be gay once more, unless she wished to subject me to the severest of all punishments.
Emilie backed me up, and on taking her hand and covering it with kisses, I had the pleasure of seeing her smile once more.
The oysters were opened in our presence, and the astonishment depicted on the girls’ countenances would have amused me if my heart had been more at ease. But I was desperate with love, and Armelline begged me vainly to be as I was when we first met.
We sat down, and I taught my guests how to suck up the oysters, which swam in their own liquid, and were very good.
Armelline swallowed half a dozen, and then observed to her friend that so delicate a morsel must be a sin.