Mademoiselle Duval, who had become a great friend of Toni’s, lectured Denise on this, and even the sergeant told her that he thought she was rather hard on poor Toni. At this Denise shrugged her shoulders.
“He’s such a bore,” she said. “I always recollect him as a dirty, greedy little boy at Bienville. I believe he is just the same.”
Now, Toni certainly showed neither of those traits at present, but Denise would not allow a word to be said in his favor. Toni, however, strange to say, did not appear to be discomposed by this conduct of Denise’s, but joined the Duval party two or three times a week when they sat, on the pleasant evenings, in the public square listening to the music; and invariably asked Denise to dance with him. He even had the assurance, when it grew cool in the autumn evenings, to come to their lodgings, and it was here that Denise’s neglect of him inspired the sergeant to remonstrate with her.
Toni had the superlative impudence even to bring an occasional bag of roasted chestnuts or some little cakes to Denise, for Toni was a connoisseur in cakes, but she invariably declared that they were very bad of their kind. This same Denise, when she and Toni danced together, would whisper in his ear, “Be sure and ask me to dance at least twice more,” or, tripping along the street, would meet him and, lifting her pretty eyes to him, would say, “Toni, when are you coming to see us again?”—but such is the nature of woman.
Early in September Madame Marcel arranged to come to pay Toni a visit, as Toni could not go to see her, and Toni engaged a lodging for her in the same house where Mademoiselle Duval and Denise lodged.
“What do you think, aunt?” cried Denise, on learning this from the landlady, “that impudent Toni has dared to engage a room for his mother on the same floor with us.”
The sergeant happened to be present. He had grateful recollections of Madame Marcel, the neatness of her shop and the thriving trade she had, as well as that lady’s personal charms.
“Denise,” said he, “you gibe at Toni entirely too much, and as for his mother, a most estimable woman is Madame Marcel, and an old friend and neighbor, and I desire that you treat her with politeness.”
“Certainly I shall, papa,” replied Denise, “but as for that odious Toni, you know I can’t stand him.”
“You will have to stand him,” replied the sergeant tartly. “He is a good soldier and seems to have reformed completely, and you must show him some respect while his mother is here at least. Do you understand me, Denise?”