Le Breton took the girl's arm into his grip with the light, firm, careful touch of a man who is used to handling women.
"They're the marks of a horse's teeth," he remarked after a brief survey.
With an air of relief, Pansy held the empty glass towards him.
"Thank goodness that's finished. Now, with your permission, I'll go to sleep."
He took the glass, placing it on a table near; but he did not move from his seat on the bedside.
"You must tell me your name," he said.
"You'll find out quite soon enough without my telling you. It's not at all necessary for me to advertise myself nowadays."
"Won't you tell me?" he asked in a cajoling tone.
Pansy shook her head.
"Then I must find a name for you," he said. "A flower name would suit you admirably. Let me see, what do you call the flower in English?"