“You have a good memory, Monsieur Thibault!”
“And do you know, Agnelette, that during these last twelve months, for it is a year since that dance, you have not only grown taller, but grown prettier too; I see you are one of those people who understand how to do two things at once.”
The girl blushed and lowered her eyes, and the blush and the shy embarrassment only made her look more charming still.
Thibault’s eyes were now turned towards her with more marked attention than before, and, in a voice, not wholly free from a slight agitation, he asked:
“Have you a lover, Agnelette?”
“No, Monsieur Thibault,” she answered, “I have never had one, and do not wish to have one.”
“And why is that? Is Cupid such a bad lad that you are afraid of him?”
“No, not that, but a lover is not at all what I want.”
“And what do you want?”
“A husband.”