"Why, no, Monsieur," I answered, holding myself on the defensive.
"Well, Célestine, I think you charming! There!"
"Really, Monsieur?"
"Adorable, in fact; adorable, adorable!"
"Oh! Monsieur!"
His fingers had left my hand, and were caressing my neck and chin with
fat and soft little touches.
"Adorable, adorable!" he whispered.
He tried to embrace me. I drew back a little, to avoid his kiss.
"Stay, Célestine, I beg of you. I do not annoy you, do I?"
"No, Monsieur; you astonish me."
"I astonish you, you little rogue. I astonish you? Oh! you don't know
me."
His voice was no longer dry. A fine froth moistened his lips.
"Listen to me, Célestine. Next week I am going to Lourdes; yes, I
conduct a pilgrimage to Lourdes. Do you wish to come to Lourdes? I
have a way of taking you to Lourdes. Will you come? Nobody will notice
anything. You will stay at the hotel; you will take walks, or do what
you like. And I will meet you in the evening."
What stupefied me was not the proposition in itself,--for I had been
expecting it a long time,--but the unforeseen form which Monsieur
gave it. Yet I preserved all my self-possession. And, desirous of
humiliating this old rake, of showing him that I had not been the dupe
of Madame's dirty calculations and his own, I lashed him squarely in
the face with these words:
"And M. Xavier? Say, it seems to me that you are forgetting M. Xavier?
What is he to do while we are amusing ourselves in Lourdes, at the
expense of Christianity?"
An indirect and troubled gleam, the look of a surprised deer, lighted
in the darkness of his eyes. He stammered:
"M. Xavier?"
"Why, yes!"
"Why do you speak to me of M. Xavier? There is no question of M.
Xavier? M. Xavier has nothing to do with this."