"Do you mean that for a reproach, Théodore? or is it simply an exclamation? Yes, I, Rosette, _la belle dame_, here in your bedroom, not in my own where I should be, at eleven o'clock at night, perhaps midnight, without duenna or chaperone or maid, almost naked, in a simple night _peignoir_;--that is very surprising, is it not?--I am as surprised as you, and I hardly know what explanation to give you." As she spoke, she put one arm around my body and sank down on the foot of my bed in such a way as to drag me with her. "Rosette," I said to her, struggling to release myself, "I will try to light the lamp; nothing is so depressing as a dark room; and then, it is downright murder not to be able to see when you are here, and so be deprived of the sight of your charms.--Allow me, with the help of a bit of tinder and a match, to make a little portable sun which will put in relief all that the jealous darkness blots out beneath its shadow." "It isn't worthwhile; I prefer that you should not see my blushes; I feel that my cheeks are burning hot, for it is quite enough to make me die of shame." She put her face against my breast and remained some moments so, as if suffocated by her emotion. Meanwhile, I was mechanically running my fingers through the long floating curls of her hair; I was cudgelling my brain in search of some honorable means of extricating myself from the scrape, but I could find none, for I was driven into my last entrenchments, and Rosette seemed firmly resolved not to leave the room as she had entered it.--There was a formidable negligence about her dress which promised nothing good. I had on an open _robe-de-chambre_ myself, which would have defended my _incognito_ but feebly, so that I was disturbed beyond measure concerning the result of the battle.