"Tell me, and I will answer you frankly, yes, if the thing be true."

"You know that I am anxious to have that commission of lady of honor,
which I have been foolish enough to ask of you, and you do not use your
credit."

"Who, I?" Malicorne cast down his eyes, joined his hands, and assumed
his sullen air. "And what credit can the poor clerk of a procurer have,
pray?"

"Your father has not twenty thousand livres a year for nothing, M.
Malicorne."

"A provincial fortune, Mademoiselle de Montalais."

"Your father is not in the secrets of monsieur le prince for nothing."

"An advantage which is confined to lending monseigneur money."

"In a word, you are not the most cunning young fellow in the province
for nothing."

"You flatter me "

"Who, I?"

"Yes, you."

"How so?"

"Since I maintain that I have no credit, and you maintain I have."

"Well, then,--my commission?"

"Well,--your commission?"

"Shall I have it, or shall I not?"

"You shall have it."

"Ay, but when?"

"When you like."

"Where is it, then?"

"In my pocket."

"How--in your pocket?"

"Yes."

And, with a smile, Malicorne drew from his pocket a letter, upon which
mademoiselle seized as a prey, and which she read eagerly. As she read,
her face brightened.

"Malicorne," cried she, after having read it, "in truth, you are a good
lad."

"What for, mademoiselle?"

"Because you might have been paid for this commission, and you have
not." And she burst into a loud laugh, thinking to put the clerk out of
countenance; but Malicorne sustained the attack bravely.

"I do not understand you," said he. It was now Montalais who was
disconcerted in her turn. "I have declared my sentiments to you,"
continued Malicorne. "You have told me three times, laughing all the
while, that you did not love me; you have embraced me once without
laughing, and that is all I want."

"All?" said the proud and coquettish Montalais, in a tone through which
wounded pride was visible.

"Absolutely all, mademoiselle," replied Malicorne.

"Ah!"--And this monosyllable indicated as much anger as the young man
might have expected gratitude. He shook his head quietly.

"Listen, Montalais," said he, without heeding whether that familiarity
pleased his mistress or not; "let us not dispute about it."

"And why not?"

"Because during the year which I have known you, you might have had me
turned out of doors twenty times if I did not please you."

"Indeed; a