"Ah! to be sure! you are just from America--I forgot that." On returning to his room, Dupont would say to himself: "Why does she question me about the men we meet walking, or at the theatre? That doesn't amuse me at all! She is a great flirt, is that girl; she doesn't lower her eyes when a man looks at her; she acts as if she was delighted to make conquests. And yet she's virtuous, perfectly virtuous! I know that better than anybody; but all she wants is to go out, to show herself. Ah! she has such a fine figure! When she's on my arm, everybody admires her carriage, her figure above all! and her foot, and her leg! How can a man help falling in love with all that? I can't eat or drink on account of it; and I lost the power to sleep long ago; I'm growing thin; to be sure, I'm not sorry for that, but I'm growing perceptibly thinner. If this goes on, I shall look like a Pierrot instead of a Punchinello." One day, Dupont had been in his pretty neighbor's room for several minutes; he was watching her work, and was doing his utmost to persuade her that he adored her, while the girl listened with manifest indifference, like one who was thinking of something other than what was being said to her, when there came two light taps at her door. "Someone is knocking," said Dupont, with an air of surprise. "Yes, I thought that I heard a knock." "Are you expecting company?" "No; but why shouldn't people come to see me? You came, whom I certainly did not expect." "Listen--they're knocking again. It is certainly at your door." "Come in!" cried Georgette; "the door isn't locked." In fact, the young woman was always careful to leave the key in the lock outside when Dupont was with her, in order to give less occasion for gossip. The door opened and a young man appeared and stopped on the threshold. He may have been about twenty years old, although he looked younger. His fresh, ingenuous face was exceedingly youthful; his great blue eyes, gentle and tender, had almost the charm of a woman's eyes; his chin was covered with an almost imperceptible down; his forehead was without a wrinkle, and his light chestnut hair grew naturally and at will, having never known the hand of a hairdresser. Take him for all in all, he was a very pretty fellow; of medium height, but slender and graceful. His dress was neither that of a peasant nor that of a Parisian youth. He wore broadcloth trousers, almost skin-tight, with long leather gaiters reaching to the knee, a velvet waistcoat with metal buttons, and a rough, long-haired hunting jacket. Lastly, he held in his hand a felt hat, with a round crown and broad brim, and a stout knotted stick. "Mamzelle Georgette, if you please?" said the young man, still standing in the doorway. At the sound of that voice, the young woman sprang to her feet, crying: "Colinet! it's Colinet!" And she ran to the new-comer, seized his hands, then his face, and kissed him again and again, with every indication of the keenest delight.