“Either of the performances of yesterday and to-day, or of our arrangement to marry.”
“O-o-o-h!” wailed Fifi, “just as I had fallen so beautifully in love with you!”
Louis’s face turned paler still.
“Mademoiselle, I do not know how to take such speeches.”
“I see you don’t,” replied Fifi.
“It is the first time I have ever been thrown with a young person of your profession,” began Louis.
“Or with an heiress worth a hundred thousand francs, and the relative of a reigning sovereign—” added Fifi, maliciously.
Louis hesitated, and changed from one foot to the other. It was hardly likely that the Holy Father would let so desirable a match for his young relative escape. Louis’s esteem for himself was as tall as the Vendôme column, and he naturally thought everybody took him at his own valuation. The Holy Father’s possible attitude in the matter was alarming and disconcerting to poor Louis.
“And besides,” added Fifi, “your attentions have been compromising. Do you recall, Monsieur—since you forbid me to call you Louis—that you have played a game of cribbage with me every evening since I have lived under your aunt’s charge? Is that nothing? Is my reputation to be sacrificed to your love of cribbage? Do you suppose that I shall let my relative, the Holy Father, remain in ignorance of those games of cribbage? Beware, Monsieur Louis Bourcet, that you are not made to repent of the heartless way in which you entrapped my affections at the cribbage-board.”
And Fifi walked with great dignity into her bedroom and banged the door after her. Once inside, she opened her arms wide and whispered softly: