"It's quite sharp this morning; you were very wise to order a fire lighted in your bedroom; one takes cold so easily. To be sure, this room is tightly closed, but the least draught does the business so quickly!"
After a few minutes, annoyed to find that his visitor did not take his leave, the count turned over and sat up in bed.
"I say, monsieur," he exclaimed testily, "do you intend to pass the day in my bedroom? Do me the favor to go away and let me sleep."
"And do you, monsieur le comte, do me the favor to cover yourself with the bedclothes again; you'll take cold."
"A truce to jesting, monsieur! I have told you that I would not fight with you; I repeat it. There is nothing to keep you here, therefore."
"O my dear Monsieur de la Bérinière—I believe that is your name, De la Bérinière, is it not?"
"Yes, monsieur; that is my name."
"My dear Monsieur de la Bérinière, when I take it into my head to do a thing, I assure you that it has to be done. I have promised myself to fight with you—unless, however, you give me your word of honor to renounce your project of marrying Auguste Monléard's widow. In that case, I am content. Does that suit you?"
"On my word, this is too much!"
"What is it that's too much?"