“What do you want with him?”
“If you should see him, tell him … No, better not!”
“What shall I tell him?”
“No, never mind.”
As he looked at her he became more and more agitated.
“Do you know him yourself?” asked he.
“No, I don’t know him myself.”
“Then what does he matter to you?”
She did not answer, but jumping up ran to the counter, behind which the hostess sat. Taking a lemon, she cut it in half and squeezed the juice into a glass which she filled with water, and this she gave to Celestin.
“There—drink that!” she said, sitting down as before on his knees.
“What is this for?” he asked, taking the glass from her.
“To clear your head. Then I will tell you something. Drink it!”
He drank it, and wiped his lips with the back of his hand.
“Well, now tell me! I am attending.”
“But you must not let him know that you have seen me, nor tell him whom you heard it from.”
“Very well, I will not tell.”
“Swear it!”
He swore.