"I believe you, my dear neighbor, I believe you; although it's a rare thing to find in Paris a girl of twenty—for you are twenty, are you not?"
"And six months, monsieur."
"And six months! that makes it all the more remarkable! A girl who is virtuous and always has been. Oh! that is very pretty! But, after all, I suppose that you do not intend to retain your—heart always?"
"I don't know, monsieur; one cannot tell what may happen."
"Bravo! very well answered!"
And Monsieur de Mardeille moved his chair nearer to Georgette's, and murmured:
"And suppose circumstances should bring you in contact with a man who adores you, whose happiness consists in making you happy,—like myself, for instance,—then would you yield to him?"
"But women are so weak!"
"Ah! fascinating girl, I am the happiest of men! you fill my cup to the brim!"
As he spoke, Monsieur de Mardeille extended his hand toward the little black petticoat; but Georgette quickly moved her chair away and struck him a smart blow on the fingers, saying in a very serious tone: