He did not
worry about the bangle, but just began kissing my hand; simply _dozens_
of kisses. I pulled and pulled to try and get it away, but he would not
let go, and kept murmuring that at last, at last, he was alone with me!
Now wasn't it too annoying, Mamma? I could not call out or make a fuss,
because there would have been _such_ a scene, and you would never
think a Frenchman could be so strong. For although I wrenched and
dragged I could not get my hand away, and it was making me crosser and
crosser every minute. At last, when he began to kiss my wrist, it
tickled so I was afraid I should laugh, and then he would think I was
not serious; so I seized my cue with the other hand, and just told Jean
in a firm voice that if he did not let go that instant I would break it
over his head! That stopped him!
He pulled himself together and said "Oh! pardon, pardon," and that he
was awfully sorry, and that it was because I was going away soon and he
was mad. And that is what I believe it was, Mamma--a fit of some kind.
Did you ever hear there was anything odd in the Croixmare family?
Anyway it shows foreigners are not to be trusted, for, even if they
haven't pistols ready to shoot you, they are doing something queer like
this.
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