He placed one hand upon his heart, with fingers wide apart.  Helene, however, had now become very grave.  The idea of allowing a soldier in her kitchen somewhat worried her.  His reverence, no doubt, had given his sanction, but she thought it rather venturesome.  There is too much license in the country, where lovers indulge in all sorts of pleasantries.  So she gave expression to her apprehensions.  When Zephyrin at last gathered her meaning, his first inclination was to laugh, but his awe for Helene restrained him.

“Oh, madame, madame!” said he, “you don’t know her, I can see!  I have received slaps enough from her!  Of course young men like to laugh! isn’t that so?  Sometimes I pinched her, and she would turn round and hit me right on the nose.  Her aunt’s advice always was, ’Look here, my girl, don’t put up with any nonsense!’ His reverence, too, interfered in it, and maybe that had a lot to do with our keeping up sweethearting.  We were to have been married after I had drawn for a soldier.  But it was all my eye!  Things turned out badly.  Rosalie declared she would go to service in Paris, to earn a dowry while she was waiting for me.  And so, and so—­”

He swung himself about, dangling his cap, now from one hand now from the other.  But still Helene never said a word, and he at last fancied that she distrusted him.  This pained him dreadfully.

“You think, perhaps, that I shall deceive her?” he burst out angrily.  “Even, too, when I tell you we are betrothed?  I shall marry her, as surely as the heaven shines on us.  I’m quite ready to pledge my word in writing.  Yes, if you like, I’ll write it down for you.”

Deep emotion was stirring him.  He walked about the room gazing around in the hope of finding pen and ink.  Helene quickly tried to appease him, but he still went on: 

“I would rather sign a paper for you.  What harm would it do you?  Your mind would be all the easier with it.”

However, just at that moment Jeanne, who had again run away, returned, jumping and clapping her hands.

“Rosalie!  Rosalie!  Rosalie!” she chanted in a dancing tune of her own composition.

Through the open doorway one could hear the panting of the maid as she climbed up the stairs laden with her basket.  Zephyrin started back into a corner of the room, his mouth wide agape from ear to ear in silent laughter, and the gimlet holes of his eyes gleaming with rustic roguery.  Rosalie came straight into the room, as was her usual practice, to show her mistress her morning’s purchase of provisions.

“Madame,” said she, “I’ve brought some cauliflowers.  Look at them!  Only eighteen sous for two; it isn’t dear, is it?”

She held out the basket half open, but on lifting her head noticed Zephyrin’s grinning face.  Surprise nailed her to the carpet.  Two or three seconds slipped away; she had doubtless at first failed to recognize him in his uniform.  But then her round eyes dilated, her fat little face blanched, and her coarse black hair waved in agitation.