"Ah, why that question, madame?" I asked, taking her hand tenderly in mine.
"Because it would seem as if one was weary when one asks questions."
"Pray tell me?" I urged, in a low voice.
"Well, when I was baptized by the old curé of St. Germain de Prez, at Paris, my godmother named me Eulalie——"
"And you are now——"
"Now," she reiterated.
"Still Eulalie only?"
"Have I not told you enough?" she asked, smiling.
"No."
"Mon Dieu, how inquisitive it is! Is not Eulalie all you need when addressing me? and you—I must have revenge—how are you named."