"Be still, then, Marianne," I said to her; "Madame might hear you, and come."
But she did not listen to me, and, crying louder than ever, exclaimed:
"Ah! what a misfortune! what a great misfortune!"
So that I too, my stomach turned by drink, and my heart moved by Marianne's tears, began to sob like a Madeleine. All the same, she is not a bad girl.
But I am getting tired here; I am getting tired; I am getting tired. I should like to get a place in the house of some member of the demi-monde, or else in America.
VI
October 1.
Poor Monsieur! I believe that I was too sharp with him the other day, in the garden. Perhaps I went further than I should. He is such a simpleton that he imagines that he has given me serious offence, and that my virtue is impregnable. Oh! his humiliated, imploring looks, which never cease to ask my pardon!
Although I have become more teasing and agreeable, he says no more to me about the matter, and cannot make up his mind to try a new direct attack,—not even the classic device of a button to be sewed on a pair of pantaloons. A clumsy device, but one that does not often fail of its effect. My God! how many such buttons have I sewed on!