“But why, then?” cried she, admirably counterfeiting (as I took for granted) a look and accent of bewilderment.
I walked on without speaking. She kept beside me.
“But why, then? If it isn’t that, what is it?”
“Oh, bah!”
“I insist upon your telling me. Tell me.”
“Very good, then. I don’t care to know a girl who lives ’collée’ with a gaga,” I said, brutally.
P’tit-Bleu flushed suddenly, and faced me with blazing eyes.
“Comment done! You believe that?” she cried.
“Pooh!” said I.
“Oh, mais non, mais non, mais non, alors! You don’t believe that?”