“Indeed, that is an evil genius.  To be sure, if I had met you in the street I should not have fallen head over ears in love with you, like a wanton, but you would certainly have pleased me.  I am sure I love you, and not for what you have done for me; for if I were rich and you were poor, I would do anything in the world for you.  But I don’t want it to be like that, for I had rather be your debtor than for you to be mine.  These are my real feelings, and you can guess the rest.”

We were still talking on the same subject when midnight struck, and my old landlord came and asked me if I were pleased.

“I must thank you,” I replied, “I am delighted.  Who cooked this delicious supper?”

“My daughter.”

“She understands her craft; tell her I thought it excellent.”

“Yes, sir, but it is dear.”

“Not too dear for me.  You shall be pleased with me as I with you, and take care to have as good a supper to-morrow evening, as I hope the lady will be well enough to do justice to the products of your daughter’s culinary skill.”

“Bed is a capital place to get an appetite.  Ah! it is sixty years since I have had anything to do with that sort of thing.  What are you laughing at, mademoiselle?”

“At the delight with which you must recollect it.”

“You are right, it is a pleasant recollection; and thus I am always ready to forgive young folks the peccadilloes that love makes them commit.”

“You are a wise old man,” said I, “everyone should sympathise with the tenderest of all our mortal follies.”

“If the old man is wise,” said Rosalie, when he had left the room, “my mother must be very foolish.”

“Would you like me to take you to the play to-morrow?”

“Pray do not.  I will come if you like, but it will vex me very much.  I don’t want to walk out with you or to go to the theatre with you here.  Good heavens!  What would people say.  No, neither at Marseilles; but elsewhere, anything you please and with all my heart.”

“Very good, my dear, just as you please.  But look at your room; no more garret for you; and in three days we will start.”

“So soon?”

“Yes; tell me to-morrow what you require for the journey, for I don’t want you to lack for anything, and if you leave it all to me I might forget something which would vex me.”

“Well, I should like another cloak, a cloak with a lining, some boots, a night-cap, and a prayer-book.”

“You know how to read, do you?”

“Certainly; and I can write fairly well.”

“I am glad to hear it.  Your asking me so freely for what you want is a true proof of your love; where confidence dwells not there is no love.  I will not forget anything, but your feet are so small that I should advise you to get your boots yourself.”