You might trust me with the Chevalier himself,—I'd never betray him. ‘Parbleu, how you make me talk!’ ‘Your secret is safe with me, I promise you,’ Gerald said reassuringly. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. Michelle sat on her bed, which emanated scents of powdered laundry detergent and Sweet Honesty perfume. He returned figuratively to his bed—the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for ever lie. 207 She romanced a dark-haired farmer a few times, having long since forgotten his name. I never had even a real doll," she added, as she snuggled the flea-bitten head to her heart.
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