“I’ll tell you what I think of you. You’re a pretty boy, but you’re too good-natured. That irritates me too. You kiss everybody who wants you to kiss them. At Patjaram, you are always pawing everybody, including your old mother and your sisters. I think it’s horrid of you!”
He laughed:
“You’re growing jealous!” he exclaimed.
“Jealous? Am I really getting jealous? How horrid if I am! I don’t know: I don’t think I am, all the same. I don’t want to be. After all, I believe there’s something that will always protect me.”
“A devil....”
“Possibly. Un bon diable.”
“Are you taking to speaking French?”
“Yes. With a view to Paris.... There’s something that protects me. I firmly believe that life can do me no injury, that nothing can touch me.”
“You’re becoming superstitious.”
“Oh, I was always that! Perhaps I’ve become more so.... Tell me, have I changed, lately?”