"What was Jean looking for in Aristophanes when he only wanted to make Thomas Vireloque and Madame de Staël talk?" And then breaking off abruptly, she asked:
"Do you think it will be interesting--our play?"
"Why do you never help us? you ought to work at it, too."
"Oh, I am not very well up in that sort of thing, mademoiselle; politics and society talk are like sealed books to me, and I do not exactly see either--"
"And then, probably, you would rather be just a spectator?"
"Unfortunately, mademoiselle, to my great regret, I shall not even be that."
"What?" she exclaimed, in amazement, "you will not see our play?"
"Oh!" he replied, dreadfully embarrassed, "for a very ridiculous reason."
"Do please tell me why?" she said, and as she leaned forward towards him, looking so graceful and charming, the perfume from her hair plunged the young man into a sort of enervating torpor.
"Why will you not tell me?" she said at length, almost sadly; "don't you look upon me a little as your friend?"
"Oh, mademoiselle," he stammered out, "I--I cannot appear at this soiree because--you will see how prosaic my reason is--the fact is, I have not a dress-coat."
"But you have plenty of time to send for your dress-coat; besides, you will want it for Thursday, there is a dinner on Thursday."
"But, mademoiselle, I cannot send for it either for Thursday or for later on, because I--I haven't one."
"No, I am not joking, mademoiselle! I do not possess a dress-coat." And then he added with a smile which was quite pathetic: "And there are plenty of poor wretches like I am who are in the same predicament!"
"Oh!" said Bijou, taking the tutor's hand with an abrupt movement, "do forgive me--how horrid and thoughtless I am! You will detest me, shall you not?"
She pressed his hand slowly in a way which sent a thrill through him.
"Detest you?" he stammered out, almost beside himself with joy. "I adore you!--I simply adore you!"
Bijou gazed at him in a startled way, but there was a tender expression in her eyes, which were dimmed with tears. Her voice was quite changed when she spoke again:
"Go away now!" she said, "and do not say that again; you must never, never say it again!"
When he reached the door he turned round, and saw that Bijou had thrown herself down on the divan, and was sobbing, with her face buried in the cushions. He wanted to go back to her, but he did not dare, and, without saying another word, he left the room.