"Dupont--that is quite a French name; I thought Americans had names more like the English."

"That depends on their origin; my family was French. Now that you know who I am, mademoiselle, will you allow me to pay court to you?"

"I see no objection--provided that you haven't lied to me; for, I give you fair warning, I hate liars!"

Dupont bowed, scratched his head, and rejoined:

"You wished to know who I was, mademoiselle, and I have gratified your wish. In my turn, may I be permitted----"

"To know who I am! Oh! that is soon told: you already know that my name is Georgette, and that I am an embroiderer. I was born at Toul, a pretty village in Lorraine, near Nancy. My parents are not rich, and I have two sisters, both older than I. My two sisters came to Paris in the hope of being better off here and of being able to help our parents, but they didn't succeed. Poor sisters! Then they came back again to us."

"And you have come to Paris in your turn. I am surprised that your parents consented to let you leave them. They might well have been afraid that you would be no more fortunate than your sisters."

"Oh! but I was determined to come to Paris; I had made up my mind to do it; and when I make up my mind to do a thing, it's got to be done."

"That indicates a strong will."

"Yes, monsieur; I have a very strong one."

"And since you have been in Paris, have you found it pleasant?"

"So-so; not too pleasant! Certainly there are plenty of means of enjoyment in Paris, one has such a choice of pleasures! Plays, b.a.l.l.s, promenades, concerts--all of them are delightful to those who can afford such diversions. But when you stay in your chamber all day long, and pa.s.s your evening working or reading, you hardly enjoy life in Paris."

"That is very true. But what prevents you from enjoying all these amus.e.m.e.nts that tempt you?"

"Can a woman who is all alone go about to plays and promenades?"

"No, certainly not; but you can have had no lack of cavaliers ready to offer you their arms."

"True; but I don't go with everybody, monsieur; I don't accept the arm of the first comer! Certainly, if I had chosen to listen to all the young men who have followed at my heels and overwhelmed me with their silly declarations of love,--love that seized them all of a sudden when they saw me walk along the street,--I should have had plenty of opportunities! But that isn't what I want!"

Dupont caressed his chin, saying to himself:

"She is exacting; she doesn't choose to go about with every _gamin!_ She wants to make the acquaintance of a _comme il faut_ man. All the chances are in my favor."

Mademoiselle Georgette had resumed her embroidery, looking out of the corner of her eye to see how her visitor bore himself. He looked at her work and exclaimed:

"Mademoiselle, you embroider superbly."

"Do you think so, monsieur? Are you a connoisseur?"

"Yes, my wi--my sister used to embroider."

"Is she in America?"

"Yes, she remained there."

"It's not surprising, monsieur, that I know how to embroider well, for I come from a province renowned for its embroideries. The very best of that sort of work is done at Nancy."

"And you are from Nancy?"

"No; but Toul is quite near. Well! do you really want some handkerchiefs embroidered?"

Dupont began to laugh, and replied:

"Faith! no; and since you have so shrewdly guessed that I came here solely in the hope of making your acquaintance, shall I be so fortunate, mademoiselle, as to have your permission to cultivate it--to come again to see you--and perhaps to offer you my arm sometimes and take you to the play or to walk?"

Mademoiselle Georgette reflected a few moments, gazed earnestly at Dupont, and said at last:

"You have not lied to me in what you have told me about yourself? You are really a widower and free?"

"No, mademoiselle, I have not lied to you," Dupont replied unhesitatingly.

"In that case, monsieur, come to see me; I am willing."

"Ah! mademoiselle, you make me the happiest of men!"

"But you must not make your visits too long; that might compromise me."

Dupont rose, bowed to the young woman, and took his leave, saying to himself:

"She is mine! It may perhaps take longer than I should have liked, but it's only a question of time now. She is mine! and I haven't the slightest desire to sleep."

IV

YOUNG COLINET

A fortnight had pa.s.sed. Dupont called very frequently on his neighbor, of whom he was more enamored than ever; for to the charms of her person Mademoiselle Georgette added wit, high spirits, and entertaining conversation. Less than these were enough to turn the head of our provincial, who lost his appet.i.te, and slept no more than two hours in succession during the night, because his love was in no degree satisfied, and his desires augmented with the presence of her who gave birth to them. But he was no further advanced in that direction than on the first day. If he took the girl's hand, she laughingly withdrew it; if he tried to kiss her, she pushed him away without ceremony; if he ventured to place his hand on her knee, or tried to put his arm about her waist, she a.s.sumed a severe expression and said to him in a very decided tone:

"If you don't stop that, I'll turn you out and never admit you again!"

Thereupon Dupont was fain to cease his audacious experiments, and said to himself again as he went away:

"It will take a long time! it will take much longer than I thought!

However, I shall certainly gain my end; for if the girl hadn't found me to her liking, she wouldn't have consented to receive my visits, she wouldn't go out with me and accept presents from me. She plays the cruel, to give greater value to her conquest. That is coquetry, yes, immodesty--but it can't last forever."

Mademoiselle Georgette did, in fact, accept Dupont's escort readily enough to the play, to concerts, and to go out to walk. As for b.a.l.l.s, Dupont did not offer to take her to any, nor did she seem to desire it.

One thing she had always refused: that was, to dine in a private dining-room at a restaurant.

"I am willing to dine with you at a restaurant," she said; "but we will dine in the main dining-room, with other people."

In vain did Dupont say:

"The service isn't so good in the main dining-room; and then, too, it's bad form--ladies who dine at restaurants never go to the public room."