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 was rolling his hat respectfully between his fingers; but, all
at once, he let fall his hat, seized the young girl by the shoulders,
pulled her towards him, and sealed her mouth with two lips that were very
warm, for a man pretending to so much indifference. Aure would have
cried out, but the cry was stifled in his kiss. Nervous and, apparently,
angry, the young girl pushed Malicorne against the wall.

"Good!" said Malicorne, philosophically, "that's enough for six weeks.