Marguerite opened the drawer of a side-table and threw the
bank-notes into it.

"Will you permit me to get into bed?" she said with a smile, as
she moved toward the bed.

"Not only permit, but I beg of you."

She turned back the covering and got into bed.

"Now," said she, "come and sit down by me, and let's have a
talk."

Prudence was right: the answer that she had brought to Marguerite
had put her into a good humour.

"Will you forgive me for my bad temper tonight?" she said, taking
my hand.

"I am ready to forgive you as often as you like."

"And you love me?"

"Madly."

"In spite of my bad disposition?"

"In spite of all."