"By six o'clock!" reiterated the concierge, who was so exasperated that she could barely articulate. "By six o'clock you will be out of the place!" And to relieve her feelings, she slammed the door with such violence that half a dozen canvases fell to the floor.
"Well, this is a nice thing," remarked Julien, when she had gone. "It looks to me, mignonne, as if we shall sleep in the Bois, with the moon for an eiderdown."
"At least you shall have a comfy pillow, sweetheart," cried Juliette, drawing his head to her breast.
"My angel, there is none so soft in the Elysée, And as we have nothing for déjeuner in the cupboard, I propose that we breakfast now on kisses."
"Ah, Julien!" whispered the girl, as she folded him in her arms.
"Ah, Juliette!" It was as if they had been married that morning.
"And yet," continued the young man, releasing her at last, "to own the truth, your kisses are not satisfying as a menu; they are the choicest of hors d'oeuvres—they leave one hungry for more."
They were still making love when Sanquereau burst in to wish them a
Happy New Year.
"How goes it, my children?" he cried. "You look like a honeymoon, I swear! Am I in the way, or may I breakfast with you?"
"You are not in the way, mon vieux," returned Julien; "but I shall not invite you to breakfast with me, because my repast consists of Juliette's lips."