"Not at all," said Frédérique.
"Strike off your sweet wines, then. Bah! they make me sick; I can't drink 'em! But these—just ask Charles how I punish 'em!"
"I should say that it isn't necessary to ask me," I said; "it's self-evident."
"Does that make you cross, my dear boy? Don't you like to have your Rosette hold her own with you to-day? Are you going to be in the sulks at table too? Ah! madame, my aunts have spoiled him, and no mistake; he was much nicer before he went the rounds of them."
Madame Dauberny nudged my knee and whispered:
"Be more agreeable, or she will make a scene with you."
I strove to put myself in harmony with the general merriment. Rosette chattered incessantly; Balloquet sang, with his eyes fixed on Frédérique; she laughed at my grisette's sallies, and from time to time told us some very amusing anecdotes.
"Ah! if I could tell stories like madame," cried Rosette, "I know what I'd do!"
"What would you do?" asked Balloquet.
"I wouldn't do anything else. I'd tell stories all day, and make them up all night.—Kiss me, Charles!"