looks; they were timid, rather. We could scarcely see each other in this dark room, lighted by the dull and hazy gleams of the lantern. Up to this point Joseph's voice had trembled. Now it suddenly took on assurance, almost gravity.
"For some days I have been wanting to confide this to you, Célestine," he began; "well, here it is. I have a feeling of friendship for you. You are a good woman, an orderly woman. Now I know you very well."
I thought it my duty to assume an archly mischievous smile, and I replied:
"You must admit that it has taken you some time. And why were you so disagreeable with me? You never spoke to me; you were always rough with me. You remember the scenes that you made me when I went through the paths that you had just raked? Oh! how crusty you were!"
Joseph began to laugh, and shrugged his shoulders:
"Oh! yes; why, you know, one cannot get acquainted with people at the very start. And women especially,—it takes the devil to know them. And you came from Paris! Now I know you very well."
"Since you know me so well, Joseph, tell me, then, what I am."
With set lips and serious eyes, he said:
"What you are, Célestine? You are like me."
