"Because Patatras was in the stable," replied Pierrot. "I went to see."
"Oh, then you keep a watch on me?" she said, laughing.
"That is not keeping a watch on you," answered Pierrot, turning red; "and then, too, it isn't only me! we were both of us—M. Giraud—"
"What grammar—good heavens—what grammar!" exclaimed M. de Jonzac, in despair.
"What's it matter? If there was anyone here, I'd take care to put the style on; but when there's only us!" And then turning to Bijou, he continued: "It's quite true, you know! M. Giraud was just as much surprised as I. He kept on saying all the time: 'We always see mademoiselle every day hurrying about everywhere, she must be ill!' And then I'd say, 'Oh, no! it can't be that! the Bijou is never ill!' You see, Monsieur Giraud, I was quite right—"
"No, you were wrong! I was not exactly ill, but tired, out of sorts. I am only just up."
She walked across to the tutor, who was leaning so heavily against the window-frame that it seemed as though he wanted to hollow out a niche for himself with his back.
"I want to thank you, Monsieur Giraud," said Bijou, holding out her hand to him, "for being so kind as to think about me."
Very pale, and visibly embarrassed, the young man scarcely dared touch the soft little hand lying so confidingly in his; he looked very delighted, though, at being treated with such cordiality, as it was more than he had ever expected again.
"Mademoiselle," he stammered out, seized with a vague desire either to run away or else to give way to his emotion, "please do not believe that I should have taken the liberty of making all those remarks."