“I find him charming,” said Madame presently.
“Yes, Mamma,” replied Juliette, “so bright and even the tick is musical.”
“Stupid!” exclaimed Madame. “When I was your age—well.”
“Pardon!” said Juliette, opening her eyes innocently.
“Child, I meant our young English friend. I repeat that I find him charming.”
“Of course, Mamma—after that necklace.”
“And you—after that watch?”
“Oh! well enough, though too grave perhaps, and fond of what is far off—I mean stars,” she added hurriedly.
“Stars! Pish! It is but because there is nothing nearer. At his age—stars!—well of a sort, perhaps.”
She paused while Juliette still looked provokingly innocent. So her mother took a long step forward, for in truth she grew impatient with all this obtuseness in which, for reasons of her own, she did not believe.