“Is it really you, Monsieur Dorsan, you, in my shop? Ah! I didn’t expect such a pleasure! I had stopped hoping for it!”
“Why so, Nicette?”
“Why—it is so long!”
“That is true. But I have things to do which make it impossible——”
“Oh! I believe you, monsieur. Besides, aren’t you your own master? and how can you give a thought to a girl who sells flowers?”
There was something so touching in the way she spoke, that I was deeply moved. How could I ever have forgotten such charm, such innocence, such susceptibility? I could not understand it.
She was still standing in front of me; I took her hand, and I believe that I was actually on the point of drawing her down on my knees. She made no resistance; she glanced anxiously about, but had not the strength to go away from me. What imprudence! what was I doing? We were in full sight of passers-by, and someone might come in at any minute. She had nothing but her reputation, and I was about to besmirch it! Poor child! she would sacrifice it to me, in her dread of displeasing me.
I dropped her hand and moved away from her, looking toward the street. She understood me, and thanked me with her eyes.
“So you were able to hire a shop, Nicette?”
“Yes, monsieur; I’ve made a lot since I’ve been in this quarter. I am economical and spend very little; I am sure that I can get along all right. I don’t think I did wrong, did I?”