“Oh! he has gone away, madame!”
“Who, pray, my dear love?”
“Monsieur Auguste.”
“Auguste gone away! nonsense! he’ll come back, of course, won’t he?”
“Oh, no, madame! I shall never see him again. He’s gone a long way.”
“I say, Dutchman, is it true that Auguste has left Paris?”
“Ja! ja! he’s gone round the world with Pertrand.”
“Round the world! Great God! And I came to ask him to invite me to breakfast! Come, my little Denise, don’t cry like that!—Poor child! she makes me feel sad.—So you loved Auguste, did you, my dear child?”
“Oh, yes, madame!”
“There! I knew it! she loved him! I suspected as much.—And he swore that he loved you too, of course; for these villains of men, they swear to that as if they were just saying good-morning.”