“Oh, yes! he did look at me a great deal, I assure you.”
“But you can’t think of such a thing as loving Monsieur Dalville, my dear!”
“Alas! it isn’t my fault—I can’t help it.”
“How did this love come to you, my child?”
“When I fell from my donkey, aunt.”
“Is it possible?”
“Mon Dieu! yes. I met Monsieur Auguste on the road; he was in his cabriolet and I was walking behind Jean le Blanc.”
“You told me that, my child.”
“He kept looking at me, and I pretended not to notice it. He got out of his carriage and followed me along the narrow path through the wood; he told me I was pretty and I laughed at his compliments.”
“You told me that, too.”