"But the people are already interested in Mademoiselle Blanche," Durand interposed, gallantly. "That's why my confrère and I have come here. The Parisians want to know all about Mademoiselle. She's the sensation of the hour. Her name is on everybody's lips."
He glanced at Mademoiselle Blanche with his most languishing smile, and Jules felt a sudden desire to kick him. The acrobat tried to look pleased, but she succeeded only in appearing more confused. Jules was surprised to see how frail she was. Her figure, full and vigorous in the ring, seemed so thin in her plain, tight-fitting gray dress, that he felt sure she must have been padded for her performance.
"I'm going to ask Mademoiselle a great many questions," Durand resumed, still leering at the acrobat.
"But I have nothing to tell," she replied, speaking for the first time.
"But you must have been born, and grown up, and done a great many things besides, that the rest of us don't do," the journalist laughed, growing more familiar. Jules' dislike for him was rapidly developing into hatred.
Durand's familiarity, however, seemed to please the acrobat's mother.
"Blanche is too modest," she said. "She's had a great many things happen to her."
"Have you always been in the circus, Mademoiselle?"
"Yes, ever since she was a child," her mother answered. "Her father was an acrobat."
"So it's in the family. And were you in the circus too, Madame?"