“No,” he said, smiling at her smile.
“I said ‘good-night’ again in such a way that he had to go.”
“And so he went!” said Artois.
“Yes. Do you know him, Monsieur Emile?”
“Yes. He came with me to-night.”
A little look of penitence came into the girl’s face.
“Oh, I am sorry.”
“Why should you be?”
“Well, he began saying something about knowing friends of mine, or—I didn’t really listen very much, because Ruffo was telling me all about the sea—and I thought it was all nonsense. He was absurdly complimentary first, you see! and so, when he began about friends, I only said ‘good-night’ again. And—and I’m really afraid I turned my back upon him. And now he’s a friend of yours. Monsieur Emile! I am sorry!”
Already the Marchesino had had that lesson of which Artois had thought in Naples. Artois laughed aloud.