“Madame,” said Eusebe, stammering and becoming red and pale by turns, “madame, I wish to purchase you.” The peculiar accent and costume of the young man led Adéonne to suppose Eusebe to be a foreigner. She understood him to propose an engagement in the line of her profession. “I thank you, monsieur, but an engagement of three years binds me to the theatre in which I am now performing, and I have decided not to sing in the provinces, much less in a foreign country. I am too good a patriot for that. I am, however, not the less grateful for the offers you have come to make. For what city did you wish to engage me?” “I have evidently not expressed myself clearly, madame, since I see you do not comprehend me. I do not come to engage you. I come to purchase you.” “For whom?” asked the _artiste_, with disgust. “For myself.” “If this is done for a wager, monsieur, I find it to be in more than questionable taste. If it be a jest, I think it very gross and insulting.” “It is neither the one nor the other,” said Eusebe, terrified by the indignation of the cantatrice. “Begone, monsieur!” exclaimed Adéonne, imperiously. “Begone, or I will have you driven from the house. You have come to insult a woman, under her own roof, who has never done you wrong. It is cowardly!” “Madame,” cried Eusebe, falling upon his knees, “madame, pity me. I am not so censurable as I may seem, I assure you. Insult you! Oh, if you only knew!--I will tell you as soon as these tears cease to stifle me. Insult you! It is impossible. I do not know how I ought to speak. You see I am but a poor rustic,--yes, only a rustic. When you have heard me, you will pardon me,--I know you will. You can drive me away afterwards, if you please. Give me but a minute: I will not abuse the privilege. Listen, and then it will not be necessary to drive me away, for I shall go of my own accord. You can see that I am not wicked. Others have found me good and mild. But I am from the country, and there people do not act as they do in the city. I have come to learn. My father sent me here for that. For only three months have I been in Paris. About one month had elapsed when I first saw you. It was on Wednesday: I did not expect to see you when I went to the theatre. I saw you remove your mask; and if you only knew what I have felt and suffered since then. I cannot tell you. It seemed to me that I had never seen but one woman. I was at once very happy and very miserable. At night I closed my eyes only to behold you in the dark. When day came again, you disappeared, and I slept only to forget that I saw you no more. It was not my fault. I went to the theatre without dreaming of the consequences. How could I? I did wrong to return every evening; but I could not help it. Do not drive me away yet.” “Continue,” murmured Adéonne.