“You will do me this favor, won’t you?”
“Will I! Pardi! I should say so! Don’t you think it’s pleasant to be employed to do good? Who could refuse such a commission?—I say, monsieur, I must kiss you for this—do you want me to?”
“Do I want you to, Denise!”
Auguste already had his arms around the girl, and had deposited more than one kiss on the plump cheeks which she offered him with pleasure, when an exclamation and a burst of laughter reached their ears simultaneously. Dalville turned: Madame Destival and Madame de la Thomassinière stood behind him.
“Oh! this is too much!” cried Madame Destival, walking forward with a wrathful glance at Denise, while Athalie continued to laugh, albeit her laughter seemed slightly forced.
“Delicious!” she said. “What! even with milkmaids? I shall remember this! the picture was truly rural.”
Denise was not disturbed, for she had no thought that she could be blamed; so she looked at the two ladies in amazement, trying to divine the cause of the merriment of the one and the anger that gleamed in the eyes of the other, and still holding in her hand the purse that the young man had given her.
“What are you doing here?” demanded Madame Destival, with a contemptuous glance at the young milkmaid.
“As you see, madame, I have brought cheese and milk as usual.”
“I didn’t order any cheeses of you; in fact, yours are bitter, and I don’t want any more of them. As for your milk, you put water in it, and I propose to take mine of somebody else.”