“My dear, it’th too much for me; it’th no uthe for me to thay: ‘I mutht forget him!’”
“I’ll sing it for you, if you want; perhaps that will have more effect on you.”
“Ah! he hath thuch lovely whithkerth. It wath hith whithkerth that fathinated me firtht.”
“You ought to have had them made into a cravat.”
“You’re alwayth joking. How lucky you are, Virginie! you don’t know what a violent pathion ith.”
“The deuce I don’t! I’ve had more of ‘em than you have!—Oh! see that pretty little house, and the farm—That must certainly be the place.”
“I don’t believe your village girl livth in thuch a nithe houthe.”
“Why not, pray? If you had seen the plump chickens she brought Auguste, you wouldn’t be surprised.”
The appearance of Denise put an end to their uncertainty. The girl ran to meet Virginie, kissed her, and made a respectful curtsy to Cézarine, who cried:
“What! ith thith your young village girl? How pretty she ith! The deuthe! what a pretty fathe! Ah! I’m very glad now that Théodore didn’t come!”