“Was it to inquire about my health that you broke my bellrope and threatened to break down my door?”
“Oh! you must know that that was a joke! I had a question I wanted to ask you.—You have some very pretty bouquets there; it seems that you too are fond of orange blossoms?”
“Yes, yes; I like their odor very much; it’s good for the nerves, and I am very nervous, you know.”
“There’s a bond of sympathy between us, for these bouquets bear a surprising resemblance to those that adorn my bedroom—and for which you once expressed your admiration.”
“Yes, that’s true; indeed, I remember now that that was what gave me the idea of having some myself.”
“And are your flower dealer and mine the same?”
He did not know what to say, and his head disappeared for a moment under the bedclothes.
“Well, neighbor?”
“Oh! I haven’t any regular flower dealer; I go sometimes to one, sometimes to another.”
“Come, come, Monsieur Raymond, why fence with me; is this the confidence of which you claim to set me an example? Are you afraid of making me angry? Don’t be afraid; I ceased to think about little Nicette a long while ago.”