“He tried to kiss me, and in defending myself I scratched his face.”
“You didn’t tell me that, my dear.”
“Oh! I was very angry then! I hated the man! I got on Jean le Blanc so as to get away from him faster, but Jean began to gallop and threw me off. I fell—I don’t know how.”
“Mon Dieu! my child! And then what?”
“The gentleman ran up to me; but he lifted me up so respectfully—he seemed so sorry for my fall—he was paler and trembled more than I did. Then, I don’t know how it happened, but all of a sudden my anger went away, and—and I believe that I loved him already.”
“And then?”
“Bless me! you know, aunt, that we found what he’d given Coco and his grandmother, and I felt that that made me love him still more. I saw him again at Madame Destival’s, and he told me to take care of Coco; and since then, you know, aunt, he hasn’t been to see us but once.”
“Have you told him that you loved him?”
“No; on the contrary, as Monsieur Bertrand told me that would keep him from coming to see us, I told him that I should never love him.”
“You did well, my child.”