“Oh! mon Dieu! what a mess, monsieur!” exclaimed the girl, picking up her tureen. “You have made me burn myself awfully—all that hot soup on my foot! I know that I shall have big blisters there!”
“It’s all right, my girl; I’ll pay for your soup.”
“And what about my apron, which is ruined, and my leg?”
“I’ll pay you for everything!” Raymond replied, with no idea what he was saying; and he pushed the girl out of the room and carefully closed the door.
“Well, well! what in the devil’s the matter with you, Monsieur Raymond? you look as if you’d had a fright!”
“Ah! my dear friend, I have good reason to!—something has happened—a circumstance—I am in a terrible plight. Wait till I look out of the window; but first be good enough to draw the curtain so that he can’t see me.”
“Are you going mad, neighbor?”
Raymond did not answer me; he went to the window and looked out, taking care to conceal himself behind the curtain, and putting his head out with the utmost precaution. I saw that he became paler than ever.
“He’s there,” he said at last.
“Who, pray?”