At which Helene laughed a merry little laugh—well-pleased, too, the minx, as I could see.
"What are courtships on the street to you, Sir Hugo," she returned, "with your 'Twinkle-Twankle' singing-women over the way, and—Lord, how went it?
"'My true love hath my heart and I have his.'
"Ha! ha! Sir Gallant, what need you with more? Would you have as many loves as the Grand Turk, and invent new love-makings for each of them? Shall we maidens petition Duke Casimir to banish the other lads of the town and leave only Hugo Gottfried for all of us?"
And then she went on to other such silly talk that I think it not worth reporting.
Whereupon I was about to leave the room in a transport of just indignation, and that without speaking, when Helene called to me.
"Hugo!" she said, very softly, as she alone could speak, and that only when it liked her to make friends.
I turned me about with some dignity, but knowing in my heart that it was all over with me.
"Well, what may be your will, madam?" said I.
Helene came towards me with uplifted, petitionary eyes.