"No, the sitting does not take place before to-morrow—and I am forgetting that I have to go to the railway station to get the consignment of which I was advised this morning."
Rising from his seat, and laying down his glass, he called out:—
"Rose, give me my cane and hat!"
Then, turning towards me, he added, in a lowered tone and speaking very quickly:—
"As to you—don't forget our conversation. If you think you can make me say 'yes,' try!—but I don't think you'll succeed. Meanwhile, not a word to Rose, or, by Saint Barthélemy, my patron of happy memory, I'll instantly kick you out of doors!"
At that moment Rose appeared with my uncle's cane and hat, which she handed to him. He kissed her on the forehead; then, giving me a last but eloquent look, hurried from the shop.
I went on scouring my double-handed sword. Rose came quietly towards me.
"What is the matter with my father?" she asked; "he seems to be angry with you."
I looked at her—her eyes were so black, her look so kind, her mouth so rosy, and her teeth so white that I told her all—my love, my suit to her father, and his rough refusal. I could not help it—after all, it was his fault! He was not there: I determined to brave his anger. Besides, there is nobody like timid persons for displaying courage under certain circumstances.