“Vous avez un fameux toupet, vous!” said Zette, half angrily.
He laughed, having been accused of confounded impudence many times before in the course of his adventurous life.
“If I told my husband he would kill you.”
“Precisely. So you’re not going to tell him. I adore you. I have come to protect you. Foi de Provençal.”
“The only way to protect me is to prove my innocence.”
“And then?”
She drew herself up and looked him straight between the eyes.
“I’ll recognize that you have a loyal heart, and will be your very good friend.”
“Mme. Zette,” cried Aristide, “I will devote my life to your service. Tell me the particulars of the affair.”
“Ask M. Bocardon.” She left him, and sailed out of the room and past the bureau with her proud head in the air.