“Great God! is it possible? Must you always meddle in other people’s business, just to drive me mad? I’ll stake my head it was she!”
I opened the box, while Raymond stared at me in amazement; he did not know which way to turn, seeing the gleam of anger in my eyes when he expected thanks. I found all the flowers I had bought, and, in my rage, I kicked the box away. The bouquets and trimmings flew through the air, and a garland à la jardinière lighted on Raymond’s brow; he dared not remove it, because my outburst of wrath had stupefied him.
After storming about and crumpling and mutilating my flowers, I threw myself into a chair and my eyes fell upon my neighbor. At that sight my anger vanished; it was impossible for me to keep a serious face when I saw Raymond crowned with paper flowers and glancing about him in terror. I roared with laughter; that reassured him, and he followed my example, but his laughter was of that forced variety which resembles a grimace, and not that inextinguishable merriment in which the gods indulge when Vulcan fills their glasses.
“Vulcan to find involved in this debate,
The gentle reader’d scarce anticipate.”
“Well,” said Monsieur Raymond at last, still trying to smile, “your angry fit seems to have passed over?”
“I must make the best of it.”
“Aren’t you satisfied with the goods they sent you?”
“Much I care for the goods, Monsieur Raymond! you will compel me to move.”
“I, neighbor? Why so, pray?”
“Because you seem to be stationed beside me here to thwart all my plans, to drive me mad with rage!”