"Satirical with you? Bless my soul! it seems to me that that would be very unbecoming of me. You amuse yourself, you enjoy life, you know how to make the most of your best days--and you are quite right! I may envy your happiness, but certainly not laugh at it, I who can no longer do anything but bore myself and other people too." She said these last words in a most melancholy tone, and her eyes were wet with tears. "What's that you say about boring other people, Frédérique?" I said, taking her hand. "You didn't make that wicked remark for my benefit, I trust; if you did, it is absolutely false." She hastily withdrew her hand. "No, no!" she cried; "I don't know what I am saying, or what I am thinking about! Come, let us talk, my dear friend; who is this girl that I found with you?" "She--why, she's a grisette; and a very pretty one, too, is she not?" "Yes, that may be. She lisps when she talks." "Oh! really now! Once in a while, there's something that makes her voice tremble, it is true, but it isn't at all disagreeable; quite the contrary." "That's a matter of taste. Some men like women who lisp, just as some like red hair. I have known some who even went so far as to adore women with a limp." "Oh! how caustic you are to-day, Frédérique!" "And this beauty, with the quivering voice--how long have you known her?" "Since day before yesterday." "Peste! she's quite new! And the acquaintance is already--complete; you have nothing else to wish for?" "Oh! I beg your pardon. We don't go so fast." "But I should say that you go at quite a good pace. If the young lady should prove cruel, I should be much surprised." "I trust that she won't be to-morrow." "Ah! you are to see her again to-morrow?" "Yes, we dine together; we have made the appointment, it's all arranged." Frédérique abruptly sprang to her feet and walked to the window. She remained there some time. When she came back to me, I was surprised at her pallor. "Do you feel ill?" I asked, hastening to meet her. "No; I--I--was looking at the weather. Well! so you really have ceased entirely to think of Armantine?" "What has induced you to mention that lady to me? What idea have you in your head?" "A perfectly natural one. I am still surprised to find that you have forgotten her. Do you know that she has left Passy?" "How should I know that? Do you suppose that I have been to Passy?" "Oh, no! that is true. Well, Armantine has left the neighborhood of the Bois. She hasn't told me where she has gone; apparently, she isn't anxious to see me again. That's as she pleases: one should never force one's self upon anybody. But I see that you are not listening to me! I forgive you: you are so engrossed by your new conquest and your blissful meeting to-morrow!--But I am forgetting that I have some business to attend to." As she spoke, she put on her bonnet, which she had tossed on a table when she took her seat at the piano. "What! you are going to leave me already?"