“You came into my room like a sly cat, and you crept out the same way, though you knew very well I had something to say to you.”
“To me?”
“You had a serenade this morning, as if you were a princess.”
“A serenade!” exclaimed Pierrette.
“A serenade!” said Sylvie, mimicking her; “and you’ve a lover, too.”
“What is a lover, cousin?”
Sylvie avoided answering, and said:—
“Do you dare to tell me, mademoiselle, that a man did not come under your window and talk to you of marriage?”
Persecution had taught Pierrette the wariness of slaves; so she answered bravely:—
“I don’t know what you mean,—”