"As you please," said Lucan. "Well, then, you are not handsome, you are not dear to me, and you are not a child."
"As for being a child, no!" she said, energetically.
She wound her vail around her head, crossed her arms over her bosom, and settled herself in her corner, where a stray moonbeam came occasionally to play over her whiteness.
"May I sleep?" she asked.
"Why, most certainly! Shall I close the window?"
"If you please. My flowers will not incommode you?"
"Not in the least."
After a pause:
"Monsieur de Lucan?" resumed Julia.
"Dear madam?"