Nervous and, apparently, angry, the young girl pushed Malicorne against the wall.
"Good!" said Malicorne, philosophically, "that's enough for six weeks.
Adieu, mademoiselle, accept my very humble salutation." And he made three steps towards the door.
"Well! no,--you shall not go!" cried Montalais, stamping with her little foot.

"Stay where you are! I order you!" "You order me ?" "Yes; am I not mistress ?" "Of my heart and soul, without doubt." "A pretty property! _ma foi!_ The soul is silly and the heart dry." "Beware, Montalais, I know you," said Malicorne; "you are going to fall in love with your humble servant." "Well, yes!" said she, hanging round his neck with childish indolence, rather than with loving abandonment.

"Well, yes! for I must thank you at least." "And for what ?" "For the commission; is it not my whole future ?" "And mine." Montalais looked at him.
"It is frightful," said she, "that one can never guess whether you are speaking seriously or not." "I cannot speak more seriously.

I was going to Paris,--you are going there,--we are going there." "And so it was for that motive only you have served me; selfish fellow!" "What would you have me say, Aure?
I cannot live without you." "Well! in truth, it is just so with me; you are, nevertheless, it must be confessed, a very bad-hearted young man." "Aure, my dear Aure, take care! if you take to calling me names again, you know the effect they produce upon me, and I shall adore you." And so saying, Malicorne drew the young girl a second time towards him.

But at that instant a step resounded on the staircase.