"I am listening to you—go on."
"When we were all here together at Bracieux, never absent from each other, and you had spent every minute of the long day in Bijou's society, your—let us call it—your admiration increased, of course, and ever since yesterday, ever since your expedition to Pont-sur-Loire, it has been at the acute stage. Am I right?"
"Well, yes: you are right."
"I am not surprised; but will you explain one thing—one thing which does surprise me?"
"What is it?"
"Why do you appear to have a special grudge against me? Why against me rather than against your brother-in-law, or young La Balue, or Pierrot's tutor, or even Pierrot himself?"
"Well, Henry is nearly Bijou's own age; he was brought up with her, and she looks upon him as a brother exactly. Young La Balue is a regular caricature; the tutor, a poor wretch who does not count; and Pierrot, a lad; whilst you—"
"Whilst I?"
"Well, as to you, why, you are the sort that women like, and you know that very well; and I can see and feel, and, in short, I know, it is you whom Bijou will care for."
"Me? nonsense! she does not deign to pay the very slightest attention to me. I am nothing in her eyes except the man who is breaking in a horse for her, who takes her out boating, or who composes couplets for her play."