"All right,édé all right, my dear baron! As I have told you, I can understand you without pantomime; so you may spare yourself so much extravagance of gesture.--Let us toast ourselves, messieurs, while we are waiting for our supper."
As she spoke, Frédérique seated herself in a great easy-chair in front of the fire; we took armchairs and moved them to her side, and in a moment all three had our feet on the andirons.
"Now," said Frédérique, "a few words by way of prologue to our supper.--You, Baron von Brunzbrack, I have known only two months, having met you in society; but I know that you are an honorable man. This evening you made a declaration of love in due form. You think, perhaps, that it was on that account that I invited you to sup with me. It is my duty to undeceive you. I do not love you, my dear baron; my heart will never beat one little bit faster because of you. It was to tell you that, and, at the same time, to offer you sincere friendship in place of love, that I asked you to sup with me. I trust that you are content with my course of action, and that you will show yourself worthy of my friendship."
The baron rolled his eyes about in most extraordinary fashion; he made a piteous face; he did not know whether he ought to appear offended or gratified; he looked down at the floor, heaved a sigh, and was about to take refuge in pantomime; but Frédérique placed her hand on his arm, saying:
"Sit still, and let me go on. I now present to you Monsieur Charles Rochebrune; I have known him only five days; he is a more recent acquaintance than you, but I know whom I am receiving; I know monsieur as well now as if we had been brought up together. Well, baron, do you know why I have invited monsieur to share my supper with you? It is because I know that he has no thought of loving me, of paying court to me; because his heart is wholly occupied by a very pretty woman, who has tormented him cruelly this evening, but who will be more amiable another time, no doubt."
The baron had no sooner heard these details concerning me than his face beamed with joy. The honest German had probably taken me for a rival, and a happy rival, I suppose; but as soon as he learned that nothing of the sort was true, and that I was not in love with Madame Dauberny, he turned to me and grasped my hand, crying: