"But, if not that, what may I presume to call you?"
"I have told you to look upon me as your friend, your comrade. If I were a man, you would call me Frédérique, as I call you Rochebrune; so, call me Frédérique."
"I shall never dare!"
"Why not, when I give you leave?"
"Because you don't seem to me in the least like a man."
She smiled queerly, passed her hand over her head, took off her little cap and tossed it on the floor, ran her fingers through her curls, rumpled up the bandeau, and made curls of that, saying, as she thus rearranged her coiffure:
"Does Monsieur Charles Rochebrune refuse to tell me what he has had on the tip of his tongue several times?"
"I beg your pardon, madame—I was thinking—I was surprised—not to find—another person here."
Frédérique curled her lip and frowned slightly.
"Do you refer to Monsieur Saint-Bergame?" she said.