"On brass.—Isn't it true, Monsieur Plays, that we men keep to our oaths?"
"Why, yes; such things have been known. I myself, for instance, swore that I would stop taking snuff when I married Madame Plays, because she doesn't like to hear people sneeze: well, I have kept my oath; to be sure, I still sneeze, but not so often."
While Monsieur Plays indulged in this reflection, his wife looked fixedly at Albert, and there was in her eyes an animation, a flame, which indicated something very different from anger. On his side, the young man bestowed a very tender glance on her, and said:
"Come, don't be cross with me any more, but promise to show it to me."
"No; I should have to admit you to my boudoir."
"I am so anxious to see it."
"Indeed! you want to see it, do you?" said Herminie, with a sly smile.
Monsieur Plays moved about on his chair, saying:
"Come, my dear love, as it will give him pleasure, do show it to him. Bless my soul, how good that bouquet smells!"
Herminie was touched; she smiled at the young man in a very significant way, and held out her hand to him.