"No, mademoiselle, the actress."
"Well, that's what I meant. Ah! and so M. de Bernès knows her?"
The old sewing-woman smiled.
"I should just think he does. He's known her more than a year and a half."
"Ah!" said Jeanne, evidently interested, "she is so pretty, Lisette Renaud! I saw her in Mignon and in the Dragons de Villars too."
"Oh, yes!" said Mère Rafut, "she is pretty, too, and as good as she is pretty! If you only knew!"
"Good?" repeated Jeanne, "but—"
"Ah, yes! For sure, she isn't a young lady like you, mademoiselle! But ever since she has known M. de Bernès, I can tell you, she won't look at anyone else. And he's the same, as far as that goes, and that's saying a good deal, for, nice-looking as he is, there's plenty of ladies after him, ladies in the best society, too, in officers' families; and they do say the Prefect's wife admires him! Oh, my, he doesn't care a snap for them all, though! He's got no eyes for anyone but Lisette; but you should see him when he's looking at her—it's pretty sure that if he was an officer of high rank he'd marry her straight off, and he'd be quite right, too—"
"Jeanne!" interrupted Bijou, "that's the first bell for luncheon." And when they were out of the room she said, in a very gentle voice, with just a shade of reproach: "Why do you let Mère Rafut tell you things you ought not to listen to?"
"Oh, goodness!" cried Jeanne, blushing and looking confused, "her story wasn't so very dreadful; and then, even if it had been, how do you think I could help her telling it?"