He laughed.
'No—except in books.'
'What books?'
'Novels—George Sand's.'
It was her turn to laugh now.
'You are really too amusing! No, Monsieur, no; you interest me. I have the best will in the world towards you; but I cannot ask Consuelos and Teverinos to meet you. Pas possible. I regret—'
She fell into silence a moment, studying him with a merry look. Then she broke out again.
'Are you a connoisseur in pictures, Monsieur?'
He had reddened already under her persiflage. At this he grew redder still.
'I have never seen any, Mademoiselle,' he said, almost piteously; 'except once a little exhibition in Manchester.'