I?” Malicorne cast down his eyes, joined his hands, and assumed his sullen air. “And what credit can the poor clerk of a procurer have, pray?”
“Your father has not twenty thousand livres a year for nothing, M. Malicorne.”
“A provincial fortune, Mademoiselle de Montalais.”
“Your father is not in the secrets of monsieur le prince for nothing.”
“An advantage which is confined to lending monseigneur money.”
“In a word, you are not the most cunning young fellow in the province for nothing.”
“You flatter me!”
“Who, I?”
“Yes, you.”
“How so?”
“Since I maintain that I have no credit, and you maintain I have.”
“Well, then, – my commission?”
“Well, – your commission?”
“Shall I have it, or shall I not?”
“You shall have it.”
“Ay, but when?”
“When you like.”
“Where is it, then?”
“In my pocket.”
“How – in your pocket?”
“Yes.”
And, with a smile, Malicorne drew from his pocket a letter, upon which mademoiselle seized as a prey, and which she read eagerly. As she read, her face brightened.
“Malicorne,” cried she after having read it, “In truth, you are a good lad.”
“What for, mademoiselle?”
“Because you might have been paid for this commission, and you have not.” And she burst into a loud laugh, thinking to put the clerk out of countenance; but Malicorne sustained the attack bravely.
“I do not understand you,” said he. It was now Montalais who was disconcerted in her turn. “I have declared my sentiments to you,” continued Malicorne. “You have told me three times, laughing all the while, that you did not love me; you have embraced me once without laughing, and that is all I want.”
“All?” said the proud and coquettish Montalais, in a tone through which the wounded pride was visible.
“Absolutely all, mademoiselle,” replied Malicorne.
“Ah!” – And this monosyllable indicated as much anger as the young man might have expected gratitude. He shook his head quietly.
“Listen, Montalais,” said he, without heeding whether that familiarity pleased his mistress or not; “let us not dispute about it.”
“And why not?”
“Because during the year which I have known you, you might have had me turned out of doors twenty times if I did not please you.”
“Indeed; and on what account should I have had you turned out?”
“Because I have been sufficiently impertinent for that.”
“Oh, that, – yes, that’s true.”
“You see plainly that you are forced to avow it,” said Malicorne.
“Monsieur Malicorne!”
“Don’t let us be angry; if you have retained me, then it has not been without cause.”
“It is not, at least, because I love you,” cried Montalais.
“Granted. I will even say, at this moment, I am certain that you hate me.”
“Oh, you have never spoken so truly.”
“Well, on my part, I detest you.”
“Ah! I take the act.”
“Take it. You find me brutal and foolish; on my part I find you have a harsh voice, and your face is too often distorted with anger. At this moment you would allow yourself to be thrown out of that window rather than allow me to kiss the tip of your finger; I would precipitate myself from the top of the balcony rather than touch the hem of your robe. But, in five minutes, you will love me, and I shall adore you. Oh, it is just so.”
“I doubt it.”
“And I swear it.”
“Coxcomb!”
“And then, that is not the true reason. You stand in need of me, Aure, and I of you. When it pleases you to be gay, I make you laugh; when it suits me to be loving, I look at you. I have given you a commission of lady of honor which you wished for; you will give me, presently, something I wish for.”
“I will?”
“Yes, you will; but, at this moment, my dear Aure, I declare to you that I wish for absolutely nothing, so be at ease.”
“You are a frightful man, Malicorne; I was going to rejoice at getting this commission, and thus you quench my joy.”
“Good; there is no time lost, – you will rejoice when I am gone.”
“Go, then; and after – ”
“So be it; but in the first place, a piece of advice.”
“What is it?”
“Resume your good-humor, – you are ugly when you pout.”
“Coarse!”
“Come, let us tell the truth to each other, while we are about it.”
“Oh, Malicorne! Bad-hearted man!”
“Oh, Montalais! Ungrateful girl!”
The young man leant with his elbow upon the window-frame; Montalais took a book and opened it. Malicorne stood up, brushed his hat with his sleeve, smoothed down his black doublet; – Montalais, though pretending to read, looked at him out of the corner of her eye.
“Good!” cried she, furious; “he has assumed his respectful air – and he will pout for a week.”
“A fortnight, mademoiselle,” said Malicorne, bowing.
Montalais lifted up her little doubled fist. “Monster!” said she; “oh! that I were a man!”
“What would you do to me?”
“I would strangle you.”
“Ah! very well, then,” said Malicorne; “I believe I begin to desire something.”
“And what do you desire, Monsieur Demon? That I should lose my soul from anger?”
Malicorne
