“Do you think that I would accept it from you rather than from another man?”
“Why, mamzelle, when a man has only honorable sentiments; you may be sure that I wouldn’t offer that to you as a mistress, but as—as—as—Oh! Violette, you understand me well enough, but you are not willing to help me a little!”
“No, Georget, I do not choose to understand you, because I don’t choose to take seriously the foolish things that you say to me.”
“Foolish things! oh! you are mistaken, mamzelle; and if you knew,—if you could guess—you would no longer doubt my love! Yes, Violette, I love you. I must pluck up courage to tell you, if you refuse to believe it; I love you to the point of—but I mustn’t tell you that.”
“What is it? Come, Georget, finish. You say nothing? Poor boy! you imagine that you love me; but in a month, in less than that perhaps, you will have something else in your mind. You are a child, do you know! A boy should never talk of love until he’s twenty-one.”
“Oh! mon Dieu! how I would like to grow old! So you don’t believe me, mamzelle?”
“I say again that it’s very possible that you believe what you say now; but it won’t be so for long,—you are too young.”
“Too young, that is the only thing you can throw in my face. What proofs do you want to make you believe in my love?”
“See, Georget, look at that little bit of a man passing over there, who looks at me in such a funny way.”
“Ah! I recognize him; it’s the little squint-eyed fellow. I had an idea that that creature was in love with you too; but I am not jealous of him! he’s too ugly! Why do you point him out to me? I wasn’t talking about him, mamzelle.”