“Alas, I know it well, and you overwhelm me by your rank; so I will say no more to you.” “Well, no, I don’t overwhelm you; say what you have to tell me--say it, I insist upon it.” “Well, I obey you.” “That is truly fortunate.” “Monsieur is dead.” “Ah, _peste!_ that’s news! And where do you come from, to be able to tell us that?” “I come from Orleans, mademoiselle.” “And is that all the news you bring?” “Ah, no; I am come to tell you that Madame Henrietta of England is coming to marry the king’s brother.” “Indeed, Malicorne, you are insupportable with your news of the last century. Now, mind, if you persist in this bad habit of laughing at people, I will have you turned out.” “Oh!” “Yes, for really you exasperate me.” “There, there. Patience, mademoiselle.” “You want to make yourself of consequence; I know well enough why. Go!” “Tell me, and I will answer you frankly, yes, if the thing be true.” “You know that I am anxious to have that commission of lady of honor, which I have been foolish enough to ask of you, and you do not use your credit.” “Who, I?” Malicorne cast down his eyes, joined his hands, and assumed his sullen air. “And what credit can the poor clerk of a procurer have, pray?” “Your father has not twenty thousand livres a year for nothing, M. Malicorne.” “A provincial fortune, Mademoiselle de Montalais.” “Your father is not in the secrets of monsieur le prince for nothing.” “An advantage which is confined to lending monseigneur money.” “In a word, you are not the most cunning young fellow in the province for nothing.” “You flatter me!” “Who, I?” “Yes, you.” “How so?” “Since I maintain that I have no credit, and you maintain I have.” “Well, then,--my commission?” “Well,--your commission?” “Shall I have it, or shall I not?” “You shall have it.” “Ay, but when?” “When you like.” “Where is it, then?” “In my pocket.” “How--in your pocket?” “Yes.” And, with a smile, Malicorne drew from his pocket a letter, upon which mademoiselle seized as a prey, and which she read eagerly. As she read, her face brightened. “Malicorne,” cried she after having read it, “In truth, you are a good lad.” “What for, mademoiselle?” “Because you might have been paid for this commission, and you have not.” And she burst into a loud laugh, thinking to put the clerk out of countenance; but Malicorne sustained the attack bravely. “I do not understand you,” said he. It was now Montalais who was disconcerted in her turn. “I have declared my sentiments to you,” continued Malicorne. “You have told me three times, laughing all the while, that you did not love me; you have embraced me once without laughing, and that is all I want.” “All?” said the proud and coquettish Montalais, in a tone through which the wounded pride was visible. “Absolutely all, mademoiselle,” replied Malicorne. “Ah!”--And this monosyllable indicated as much anger as the young man might have expected gratitude. He shook his head quietly.