"But I thought you had already made up your mind to do that," said Agapit, striking an attitude of pretended unconcern.
"Oh, yes, I forgot,—I have made up my mind that I am not suited to matrimony. Just fancy having to ask a man every time you wanted a little money,—and having to be meek and patient all the time. No, indeed, I wish to have my own way rather more than most women do," and, in a gay and heartless derision of the other sex, she hummed a little tune.
"Just wait till you fall in love," said Agapit, threateningly.
"A silly boy asked me to marry him, the other evening. Just as if I would! Why, he is only a baby."
"That was Pius Poirier," said Agapit, delightedly and ungenerously.
"I shall not tell you. I did wrong to mention him," said Bidiane, calmly.
"He is a diligent student; he will get on in the world," said Agapit, more thoughtfully.
"But without me,—I shall never marry."
"I know a man who loves you," said Agapit, cautiously.
"Do you?—well, don't tell me. Tell him, if you have his confidence, that he is a goose for his pains," and Bidiane reclined against her hammock cushions in supreme indifference.