"Good! See here, then—a little plaisanterie—what you call joke. Can you will to see it?" and he laid a little pink cocked-hat note on her lap, looking like a mischievous boy as he did so.
"'Mon Casimer Teblinski;' I see no joke;" and Amy was about to tear it up, when he caught it from destruction, and holding it out of reach, said, laughing wickedly,—
"The 'mon' is one abbreviation of 'monsieur,' but you put no little—how do you say?—period at the end of him; it goes now in English—My Casimer Teblinski,' and that is of the most charming address."
Amy colored, but had her return shot ready.
"Don't exult; that was only an oversight, not a deliberate deception like that you put upon me. It was very wrong and rude, and I shall not forgive it."
"Mon Dieu! where have I gone in sinning! I am a polisson, as I say each day, but not a villain, I swear to you. Say to me that which I have made of wrong, and I will do penance."
"You told me 'Ma drogha' was the Polish for 'My pupil,' and let me call you so a long time; I am wiser now," replied Amy, with great dignity.
"Who has said stupidities to you, that you doubt me?" and Casimer assumed an injured look, though his eyes danced with merriment.
"I heard Hoffman singing a Polish song to little Roserl, the burden of which was, 'Ma drogha, Ma drogha,' and when I asked him to translate it, those two words meant, 'My darling.' How dare you, ungrateful creature that you are!"
As Amy spoke, half-confusedly, half-angrily, Casimer went down upon his knees, with folded hands and penitent face, exclaiming, in good English,—