“Women cry for so little,” said the Colonel.
“I do not know,” replied Martial; “but she does not cry because she is left there without a partner; her grief is not of to-day. It is evident that she has beautified herself for this evening with intention. I would wager that she is in love already.”
“Bah! She is perhaps the daughter of some German princeling; no one talks to her,” said Montcornet.
“Dear! how unhappy a poor child may be!” Martial went on. “Can there be anything more graceful and refined than our little stranger? Well, not one of those furies who stand round her, and who believe that they can feel, will say a word to her. If she would but speak, we should see if she has fine teeth.
“Bless me, you boil over like milk at the least increase of temperature!” cried the Colonel, a
