"Ah, here comes the audacious giver!" cried Modeste, as Canalis rode
up. "It is only a poet who knows where to find such choice things.
Monsieur," she said to Melchior, "my father will scold you, and say
that you justify those who accuse you of extravagance."
"Oh!" exclaimed Canalis, with apparent simplicity, "so that is why La
Briere rode at full gallop from Havre to Paris?"
"Does your secretary take such liberties?" said Modeste, turning pale,
and throwing the whip to Francoise with an impetuosity that expressed
scorn. "Give me your whip, papa."
"Poor Ernest, who lies there on his bed half-dead with fatigue!" said
Canalis, overtaking the girl, who had already started at a gallop.
"You are pitiless, mademoiselle. 'I have' (the poor fellow said to me)
'only this one chance to remain in her memory.'"
"And should you think well of a woman who could take presents from
half the parish?" said Modeste.
She was surprised to receive no answer to this inquiry, and attributed
the poet's inattention to the noise of the horse's feet.
"How you delight in tormenting those who love you," said the duke.
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