I put on a humble look and said in a low voice:  “Oh!  Mademoiselle, as for me, if I long for one thing more than another, it is to be summoned before a magistrate for the same reason as Morin.”

“Why?” she asked.  And looking steadily at her, I replied:  “Because you are one of the most beautiful creatures living; because it would be an honor and a glory for me to have wished to offer you violence, and because people would have said, after seeing you:  Well, Labarbe has richly deserved what he has got, but he is a lucky fellow, all the same.”

She began to laugh heartily again, and said:  “How funny you are!” And she had not finished the word funny, before I had her in my arms, and was kissing her ardently wherever I could find a place, on her forehead, on her eyes, on her lips occasionally, on her cheeks, all over her head, some part of which she was obliged to leave exposed, in spite of herself, to defend others, but at last she managed to release herself, blushing and angry.  “You are very unmannerly, Monsieur,” she said, “and I am sorry I listened to you.”

I took her hand in some confusion, and stammered out:  “I beg your pardon.  I beg your pardon, Mademoiselle.  I have offended you; I have acted like a brute!  Do not be angry with me for what I have done.  If you knew ...”  I vainly sought for some excuse, and in a few moments she said:  “There is nothing for me to know, Monsieur.”  But I had found something to say, and I cried:  “Mademoiselle, I love you!”

She was really surprised, and raised her eyes to look at me, and I went on:  “Yes, Mademoiselle, and pray listen to me.  I do not know Morin, and I do not care anything about him.  It does not matter to me the least if he is committed for trial and locked up meanwhile.  I saw you here last year, and I was so taken with you, that the thought of you has never left me since, and it does not matter to me whether you believe me or not.  I thought you adorable, and the remembrance of you took such a hold on me that I longed to see you again, and so I made use of that fool Morin as a pretext, and here I am.  Circumstances have made me exceed the due limits of respect, and I can only beg you to pardon me.”

She read the truth in my looks, and was ready to smile again; then she murmured; “You humbug!” But I raised my hand, and said in a sincere voice, (and I really believe that I was sincere):  “I swear to you that I am speaking the truth,” and she replied quite simply:  “Really?”

We were alone, quite alone, as Rivet and her uncle had disappeared in a sidewalk, and I made her a real declaration of love, while I squeezed and kissed her hands, and she listened to it as something new and agreeable, without exactly knowing how much of it she was to believe, while in the end I felt agitated, and at last really myself believed what I said:  I was pale, anxious and trembling, and I gently put my arms round her waist, and spoke to her softly, whispering into the little curls over her ears.  She seemed dead, so absorbed in thought was she.