She started up. “Monsieur, you forget yourself!”
“If I remember anything else in the wide world but you, it would be a poor compliment. I forget everything. You turn my head, you ravish my heart, and you put joy into my soul.”
He meant it—intensely—for the moment.
“I ought not to listen to you,” said the lady, “especially when I am so unhappy.”
“All the more reason to seek consolation,” replied Aristide.
“Monsieur,” she said, after a short pause, “you look good and loyal. I will tell you what is the matter. My husband accuses me wrongfully, although I know that appearances are against me. He only allows me in the house on sufferance, and is taking measures to procure a divorce.”
“madame,” said aristide, “you are adorable, and i love you to distraction”
“A la bonne heure!” cried Aristide, excitedly casting away his straw hat, which an unintentional twist of the wrist caused to skim horizontally and nearly decapitate a small and perspiring soldier who happened to pass by. “A la bonne heure! Let him divorce you. You are then free. You can be mine without any further question.”
“But I love my husband,” she smiled, sadly.