"I propose to tell you of all the torments I have suffered. In the first place, I love you—but you are well aware of that; I have told you so before."
"Yes, you have told me so; but that is no reason why it should be true. All men say as much to a woman who is at all attractive, and of whom they flatter themselves that they can make the conquest."
"But, in that case, madame, what must a man do to prove that he really loves?"
"In the first place, it seems to me that he should not let centuries pass without calling; you must agree, monsieur, that that is a curious way of proving one's love."
"But, madame, when he is received coldly, when the person in question does not deign to address a word to him, after having given him some reason to hope; and when she laughs and talks incessantly with other men before his eyes, without any pity for the anguish he suffers——"
Armantine laughed aloud, disconcerting me so that I dared not go on.
"Ah!" she cried, when her paroxysm of merriment had subsided; "that is to say, monsieur, that if a woman was weak enough to listen to you and believe you, she must never listen to any other man's gallant speeches? When a gentleman accosted her, she should run away at once, lest he be tempted to offer her his homage? Perhaps, too, she ought to make wry faces, squint when anyone looks at her, for fear she might be thought pretty?"
"Oh! madame!"
"If that's your way of thinking, monsieur, I must warn you that you would very often have occasion to lose your temper with me. I like to have men pay court to me; I like to have them think me pretty—yes, and tell me so. I don't know whether that is coquetry, but, in my opinion, there is no greater pleasure for a woman."
"No greater pleasure? Not even love? Not even to be loved sincerely?"