“Why, yes, madame, yes, I assure you, I like yours quite as well—in fact, I think it even prettier.”
“Oh! you say that to flatter me!”
“But they are equally dark.”
“A bright light makes my eyes ache; I detest it.”
“But, madame, you should not dread being seen; when one is so lovely——”
Chérubin dared not go on; he was tremendously surprised that he had said so much; but Madame Célival, to whom the compliment seemed quite natural, replied with a smile:
“Really! do you think me lovely? Oh! but it costs you men so little to say things that you don’t mean!”
And, as she spoke, Madame Célival leaned carelessly on the cushion of the violet velvet couch on which she was half-reclining, and her bosom rose and fell rapidly as she gazed at Chérubin, who was sitting on a chair by her side; he lowered his eyes, dared not look at her, and held his peace.
After a long pause, Madame Célival, finding that Chérubin did not speak, exclaimed:
“But I am forgetting our breakfast! Perhaps you are hungry?”