"No, thank you, Mademoiselle," he said, affecting a tone of great ceremony, "I prefer to take this glass of punch, if you will permit me."
"The punch is cold, I fear; suppose we were to put a little tea in it.
Stay—let me help you."
"A thousand thanks; but I like to attend to such little cookeries myself. By the way, it seems to me that Mademoiselle Giselle, in her character of an angel who disapproves of the good things of this life, has not left us much to eat at your table."
"Who—I?" cried the poor schoolgirl, in a tone of injured innocence and astonishment.
"Don't pay any attention to him," said Jacqueline, as if taking her under her protection. "He is nothing but a tease; what he says is only chaff. But I might as well talk Greek to her," she added, shrugging her shoulders. "In the convent they don't know what to make of a joke. Only spare her at least, if you please, Monsieur Marien."
"I know by report that Mademoiselle Giselle is worthy of the most profound respect," continued the pitiless painter. "I lay myself at her feet—and at yours. Now I am going to slip away in the English fashion. Good-evening."
"Why do you go so soon? You can't do any more work today."
"No, it has been a day lost—that is true."
"That's polite! By the way—" here Jacqueline became very red and she spoke rapidly—" what made you just now stare at me so persistently?"
"I? Impossible that I could have permitted myself to stare at you,
Mademoiselle."