Théodore lifted his finger and placed it on his lips so as to represent a statue of silence, and, pointing to the sleeping child, led her into the adjoining room. "Théodore," continued Rosette, who seemed to take strange pleasure in repeating the name, and at the same time to be collecting her thoughts,--"Théodore," she continued, retaining the hand the young man had offered her to lead her to her chair, "so you have returned at last? What have you been doing all the time? where have you been?--Do you know that it is six months since I saw you! Ah! Théodore, that is not right; we owe some consideration, some pity to those who love us, even if we do not love them." THÉODORE. What have I been doing.--I have no idea.--I have gone away and come home, I have waked and slept, I have sung and wept, I have been hungry and thirsty, I have been too warm and too cold, I have been bored, I have less money and am six months older--I have lived, that's the whole of it.--And how about yourself, what have you been doing? ROSETTE. I have loved you. THÉODORE. Have you done nothing but that? ROSETTE. Absolutely nothing.--I have made a bad use of my time, haven't I? THÉODORE. You might have made a better use of it, my poor Rosette; for example, you might have loved some one who could return your love. ROSETTE. I am unselfish in love as in everything.--I don't lend love at interest; it is a pure gift on my part. THÉODORE. That is a very rare virtue and one that can exist only in a noble heart. I have often wished that I could love you, especially as you desire it; but there is an insurmountable obstacle between us which I cannot tell you.--Have you had any other lover since I left you? ROSETTE. I have had one whom I still have. THÉODORE. What sort of a man is he? ROSETTE. A poet. THÉODORE. The devil! who is this poet, and what has he written? ROSETTE. I haven't a very clear idea--a volume that nobody knows anything about, and that I tried to read one evening. THÉODORE. So you have an unpublished poet for a lover?--That must be interesting.--Is he out at elbows, does he wear dirty linen and rumpled stockings? ROSETTE. No; he dresses very well, washes his hands and has no ink-spots on the end of his nose. He's a friend of C----; I met him at Madame de Thémines',--you know, that tall woman, who plays the child and puts on such innocent airs. THÉODORE. And might one know the name of this eminent personage? ROSETTE. Oh! _Mon Dieu_, yes! he is the Chevalier d'Albert. THÉODORE. Chevalier d'Albert! I think that was the young man who was on the balcony when I alighted from my horse. ROSETTE. Precisely.