“Is that any of your business?”
“Oh! very much!”
“Here in the country we ain’t in such a hurry as your city ladies.”
“Haven’t women hearts in the country as well as elsewhere?”
“Yes; but they don’t take fire the way yours does; it seems to me to be a little heart of tinder.”
“Upon my word, she is really amusing!” said Auguste, laughingly.
“She!” repeated the milkmaid in an irritated tone; “how polite these fine gentlemen are! She! Anyone would think we had known each other a long while.”
“It depends entirely on you whether or not we shall be the best friends in the world in a moment. And to begin with, I must give you a kiss.”
“No—no, monsieur—none of that sort of thing, if you please.—Oh! look out, or I’ll scratch you.”
Auguste, accustomed to defy such prohibitions, seized the little milkmaid by the waist, and tried to put his lips to her fresh, ruddy cheek; but she defended herself more vigorously than the city ladies do; to be sure, a peasant is less embarrassed by her clothes, she isn’t afraid of rumpling them, and her corsets are not so tight that she cannot move her arms; that is the reason no doubt that a kiss is much harder to obtain from a peasant.