"Well, then, we came away, and I felt wretched, of course. I thought I was mistaken, and that he did not care about me at all."
"You did not tell me anything about all that."
"No; in the first place I imagined that it was all over, and then I should not have liked to talk about it to anyone, not even to you; it seems to me that, about such matters—well, when one is in love, one should only talk about it to one's own self; that is the only way to be quite understood."
"Oh, then, you fancy that I do not understand anything about love?"
"About love such as I understand it? no! you are too pretty, you see, and then you are too much fêted and adored by everyone to be able, as I have done, to satisfy and content yourself with an immense affection for one person only."
Bijou sighed, as she said regretfully:
"It must be so happy, though, to love anyone like that."
"Well, it would be easy enough for you; your cousin M. de Blaye adores you. Oh, it is no use denying it—it is so perfectly evident; I saw it instantly."
"You are dreaming—" said Bijou, looking astounded.
"Oh, dear, no! he is in love with you, madly in love with you, and he seems to me to be a man worthy of your love."