“You are mistaken, mon enfant,” replied Bigourdin. “I have a great regard for her. She has striking qualities. She is a woman of ripe age and much common sense.”
Which shows how double-tongued men may be.
“C’est une vieille pimbèche!” cried Félise.
“Tais-toi,” said Bigourdin severely. For a “vieille pimbèche” means, at the very least, a horrid old tabby with her claws out.
“I won’t be silent,” laughed Félise rebelliously. “C’est une vieille pimbèche, and I’m not going to leave you to her. I don’t want to leave you. I don’t want to marry.”
“That is what all little girls say,” replied Bigourdin. “But when you see Lucien return, joli garçon, holding his head in the air like a brave little soldier of France, and looking at you out of his honest eyes, you will no longer tell me, ‘Je ne veux pas me marier, mon oncle.’ ”
She laughed at his outrageous mimicry of a modest little girl’s accent.
“It’s true all the same,” she retorted. “I don’t want to marry anybody, and Lucien after having seen all the pretty girls of Paris won’t want to marry me.”
“If he doesn’t——!” cried Bigourdin threateningly. “If he dares——!”
“Well, what then?” asked Félise.