“I see you are thinking about something else,” I said. “Well, tell me what it is; for, if you do not, we shall not be able to talk to each other at all, which would be very unworthy of both of us.” She answered, “Oh! I was really listening to you, Monsieur; but it is true that I was thinking about something else. You will excuse me, won’t you? I could not help thinking that Mademoiselle Prefere must like you very, very much indeed, to have become so good to me all of a sudden.” Then she looked at me in an odd, smiling, frightened way, which made me laugh. “Does that surprise you?” I asked. “Very much,” she replied. “Please tell me why?” “Because I can see no reason, no reason at all... but there!... no reason at all why you should please Mademoiselle Prefere so much.” “So, then, you think I am very displeasing, Jeanne?” She bit her lips, as if to punish them for having made a mistake; and then, in a coaxing way, looking at me with great soft eyes, gentle and beautiful as a spaniel’s, she said, “I know I said a foolish think; but, still, I do not see any reason why you should be so pleasing to Mademoiselle Prefere. And, nevertheless, you seem to please her a great deal--a very great deal. She called me one day, and asked me all sorts of questions about you.” “Really?” “Yes; she wanted to find out all about your house. Just think! she even asked me how old your servant was!” And Jeanne burst out laughing. “Well, what do you think about it?” I asked. She remained a long while with her eyes fixed on the worn-out cloth of her shoes, and seemed to be thinking very deeply. Finally, looking up again, she answered, “I am distrustful. Isn’t it very natural to feel uneasy about what one cannot understand; I know I am foolish; but you won’t be offended with me, will you?” “Why, certainly not, Jeanne. I am not a bit offended with you.” I must acknowledge that I was beginning to share her surprise; and I began to turn over in my old head the singular thought of this young girl--“One is uneasy about what one cannot understand.” But, with a fresh burst of merriment, she cried out, “She asked me...guess! I will give you a hundred guesses--a thousand guesses. You give it up?... She asked me if you liked good eating.” “And how did you receive this shower of interrogations, Jeanne?” “I replied, ‘I don’t know, Mademoiselle.’ And Mademoiselle then said to me, ‘You are a little fool. The least details of the life of an eminent man ought to be observed. Please to know, Mademoiselle, that Monsieur Sylvestre Bonnard is one of the glories of France!’” “Stuff!” I exclaimed. “And what did YOU think about it, Mademoiselle?” “I thought that Mademoiselle Prefere was right. But I don’t care at all...(I know it is naughty what I am going to say)...I don’t care a bit, not a bit, whether Mademoiselle Prefere is or is not right about anything.” “Well, then, content yourself, Jeanne, Mademoiselle Prefere was not right.”