"My kind star—my genius—my good angel, who thus procures me the honor of beholding Mademoiselle de Charrebourg—an honor than which fortune has none dearer to me—no—none half so prized."
"These are phrases, sir."
"Yes; phrases that expound my heart. I beseech you bring them to the test."
"Well, then," she said, gravely, "let us see. Kneel down and pick the strawberries that grow upon this bank; they are for the Visconte de Charrebourg."
"I am too grateful to be employed."
"You are much older, Monsieur, than I."
"No doubt."
"And have seen more of the world, too."
"True, Mademoiselle," and he could not forbear smiling.
"Well, then, you ought not to have tried to meet me in the park so often as you did—or indeed at all—you know very well you ought not."