Aurora Church had taken her hand out of Miss Ruck’s arm; she looked at me, smiling, with her head a little inclined, while, upon her shoulder, she made her open parasol revolve. “Which is most improper—to walk alone or to walk with gentlemen? I wish to do what is most improper.”
“What mysterious logic governs your conduct?” I inquired.
“He thinks you can’t understand him when he talks like that,” said Miss Ruck. “But I do understand you, always!”
“So I have always ventured to hope, my dear Miss Ruck.”
“Well, if I didn’t, it wouldn’t be much loss,” rejoined this young lady.
“Allons, en marche!” cried M. Pigeonneau, smiling still, and undiscouraged by her inhumanity. “Let as make together the tour of the garden.” And he imposed his society upon Miss Ruck with a respectful, elderly grace which was evidently unable to see anything in her reluctance but modesty, and was sublimely conscious of a mission to place modesty at its ease. This ill-assorted couple walked in front, while Aurora Church and I strolled along together.
“I am sure this is more improper,” said my companion; “this is delightfully improper. I don’t say that as a compliment to you,” she added. “I would say it to any man, no matter how stupid.”
“Oh, I am very stupid,” I answered, “but this doesn’t seem to me wrong.”
“Not for you, no; only for me. There is nothing that a man can do that is wrong, is there? En morale, you know, I mean. Ah, yes, he can steal; but I think there is nothing else, is there?”
“I don’t know. One doesn’t know those things until after one has done them. Then one is enlightened.”