“What’s that, monsieur? What do you take me for?”
“Come, come, Mademoiselle Marguerite, don’t play the prude; when a girl has a lover, when she lives with a young man, she should not be so severe.”
“Because I have a lover, monsieur, is that any reason why I should listen to such things?”
“Your little popinjay of a lover gives you nothing, and will drop you the first thing you know; whereas I will agree to give you an allowance, and, if you behave yourself, I——”
“I beg you to say no more, monsieur, and never speak to me again; if you do, I will tell Ernest that you called him a popinjay, and how you have been talking to me. Ah! he will teach you a lesson.”
“What’s that? You insolent, impertinent little hussy!”
“Bah! you old fool!”
And with that, the girl ran quickly upstairs. Monsieur le comte returned to his room grumbling, and I said to myself:
“She must really love her Ernest, since she prefers poverty with him to comfort with another;” and I was almost ashamed of having made some few sweet speeches to her, for, without being constant oneself, one may well do homage to constancy.
I was curious to see her lover; but probably he came early in the morning and went away late, or not at all. One day, however, I met him; and I was surprised to find that I knew him; I had met him several times in society. He was a young man of excellent family, not more than twenty years old; he was a comely youth, but he had a mania for writing for the stage, and had not as yet succeeded in having any of his plays produced, except a few unimportant things at some of the boulevard theatres. His parents did not approve of his taste for the drama, and desired to force him to enter the government service; but he always found a way to delay until the place was filled; and his parents, who were not at all satisfied with him, gave him very little pocket money. Poor fellow! I understood why his little mistress had potatoes oftener than quail.