“If I tell it, I consent to love Monsieur Landeau.”
“Will you be serious?”
“I am speaking very seriously. My fiancé is the most serious thing in the world. Well, listen, if I tell your secret it means that I no longer like you.”
“Ah, no, because that might happen any minute!”
“You ungrateful wretch!” said Isabelle. She pointed to him, as though showing him to an imaginary gallery:
“He is as handsome as Apollo and does not know it.”
She raised her hand.
“I swear it. There, are you satisfied? Do speak!”
He still hesitated, then made up his mind.
“My friend, Marcel Guibert, has something to tell Alice Dulaurens. He is going to wait for her to-morrow in the oakwood.”