When she had left them Jean said quickly, to put an end to the conversation.
“Madame Dulaurens does not want to be separated from her daughter. You understand?”
“Ah,” said Isabelle. “So poor Alice is to marry Monsieur de Marthenay. She has no more will-power than a hen in a shower of rain.” And with a sudden quaint outburst she added:
“Long live forbidden loves! What will you give me as a reward for my help?”
“Ask and you shall receive!”
She looked slyly at him as if to provoke him.
“A kiss from your lips, dear Sir.”
His innocence was routed. He retorted at once:
“On yours, fair lady.”
It was her turn to blush. They both laughed, with that slight embarrassment which accompanies the thought of coming pleasure, and leaving their hiding-place they mixed with the general company.