“No, Miss de Woude, you don’t mean that.”
Emilie abided by her opinion, and Eline laughed at their disagreement. The tinkling of the bell warned them that the fourth act was about to commence, and Vincent took his leave, although Georges politely offered him his seat in the box.
“No; thank you very much; I don’t want to rob you of your place, I am comfortable enough in the stall. Au revoir. To-morrow then, eh? Adieu, Betsy, Eline; au plaisir, Miss de Woude; good evening, Mr. de Woude.”
He bowed, pressed Georges’ hand, and slowly went away, lightly swinging his bamboo walking-stick in his hands.
“A strange boy!” said Eline, shaking her head.
“I am continually in fear that he will do something to scandalize us,” Betsy whispered into Emilie’s ears; “but up to now he has [[45]]kept himself quiet enough. Besides, you see I want to be nice and friendly to him, so as not to make him an enemy. I am a little afraid of him, one never can tell what a fellow like that may do, you see.”
“I can’t say he is a prime favourite of mine,” said Emilie, and they rose to return to their seats.
“Come, Emmie, you only say so because he did not say any nice things about Fabrice,” Georges chimed in, in a teasing voice.
Emilie shrugged her shoulders, and they passed into the vestibule.
“Oh, there is no fifth act! I thought there were five acts,” said Eline, with some disappointment, to de Woude, who told her the end of the plot.