"Oh! not at all. I simply wanted to know."
Another time, it was a middle-aged man, but dressed in the height of fashion, and mimicking all the manners of a young dandy, whom Mademoiselle Georgette noticed on one of the public promenades and pointed out to her faithful attendant.
"Do you know who that man is?"
"How in the devil do you suppose that I know who he is?"
"Ah! to be sure! you are just from America—I forgot that."
On returning to his room, Dupont would say to himself:
"Why does she question me about the men we meet walking, or at the theatre? That doesn't amuse me at all! She is a great flirt, is that girl; she doesn't lower her eyes when a man looks at her; she acts as if she was delighted to make conquests. And yet she's virtuous, perfectly virtuous! I know that better than anybody; but all she wants is to go out, to show herself. Ah! she has such a fine figure! When she's on my arm, everybody admires her carriage, her figure above all! and her foot, and her leg! How can a man help falling in love with all that? I can't eat or drink on account of it; and I lost the power to sleep long ago; I'm growing thin; to be sure, I'm not sorry for that, but I'm growing perceptibly thinner. If this goes on, I shall look like a Pierrot instead of a Punchinello."
One day, Dupont had been in his pretty neighbor's room for several minutes; he was watching her work, and was doing his utmost to persuade her that he adored her, while the girl listened with manifest indifference, like one who was thinking of something other than what was being said to her, when there came two light taps at her door.
"Someone is knocking," said Dupont, with an air of surprise.
"Yes, I thought that I heard a knock."