"And mine is Gustave Tricotrin, mademoiselle—always your slave. I do not doubt that in Paris, at this moment, there are men who picture me tramping the pavement, desolate. Not one of them but would envy me from his heart if he could see my situation!"
"It might have fallen out worse, I admit," said the girl. "My own day was at the point of being dull to tears—and here I am chattering as if I hadn't a grief in the world! Let me persuade you to take another croissant!"
"Fervently I wish that appearances were not deceptive!" said Tricotrin, who required little persuasion. "Is it indiscreet to inquire to what griefs you allude? Upon my word, your position appears a very pretty one! Where do those dainty shoes pinch you?"
"They are not easy on foreign soil, monsieur. When I reflect that you go back to-night, that to-morrow you will be again in Paris, I could gnash my teeth with jealousy."
"But, ma foi!" returned Tricotrin, "to a girl of brains, like yourself,
Paris is always open. Are there no customers for eyelashes in France?
Why condemn yourself to gnash with jealousy when there is a living to
be earned at home?"
"There are several reasons," she said; "for one thing, I am an extravagant little hussy and haven't saved enough for a ticket."
"I have heard no reason yet! At the moment my pocket is nicely lined— you might return with me this evening,"
"Are you mad by any chance?" she laughed.
"It seems to me the natural course."
"Well, I should not be free to go like that, even if I took your money. I am a business woman, you see, who does not sacrifice her interests to her sentiment. What is your own career, monsieur Tricotrin?"