"I vould like to pe a tulib," murmured the baron.
"You choose ill, baron; the tulip has very little charm for me; I care little for odorless flowers."
"In tat case, I vould like to pe—a beony."
"Ha! ha! ha! you are not happy in your choice of flowers. Well, messieurs, what did you think of Monsieur Sordeville's reception? Was the concert good? I arrived very late."
"Faith! that was lucky for your ears; for there were a lady and a gentleman who put us to a severe test. By the way, a young man, with a very light complexion, sang some ballads tolerably well. Who was he, I wonder? He talked a good deal with Madame Sordeville."
"Oh! I know: it was Mondival. He's very good-looking, but a fool; he's conceited, and I hate conceited men. I prefer them ugly—and clever. I don't mean that for you, messieurs."
And the fair Frédérique laughed aloud. The baron felt called upon to follow suit. I said nothing, for I was thinking of Armantine. My neighbor, noticing my serious face, nudged me with her knee.
"Well! he has nothing to say!" she exclaimed. "Have I offended you? But, no—I said nothing that was meant for you."
"Offended me? How, pray?"
"He doesn't even know what I said! He's thinking of his Armantine; I was sure of it! Do you love her so much, then—with all your heart, as they say?"