"Stupid!" she said. "I will not talk to you. You have lost your head."
"Yes, Gabrielle, that is it. Lost, absolutely, and my heart as well."
"Your heart, Jean, that is interesting. I did not know that you had a heart. And you have lost it? What a pity! Who has found it, I wonder? Who has it? What is her name? Mon Dieu, what is her name?"
"Gabrielle!"
"Well, go on, confess. It will do you good. You need it."
"True," said Jean, very seriously. "That is just what I have done, and to you. Her name, it is Gabrielle. Do you, can you understand?"
Gabrielle grew pale.
"That will do, Jean. That goes too far. I will not allow jests of that sort. Good-bye. I must go home now to cook these trout for dinner."
"But it is no jest--far from it. I love you, Gabrielle, to distraction; more than I can tell. Could you not----?"
"No, Monsieur Giroux, I could not. And I beg of you never to speak to me like that again."