"And," he asked, somewhat uneasily, "the rest?"--

"Is, that you are in love with Mademoiselle de Courtaix. Ah, do not deny it! it is so evident!" And then, after a moment's silence, she added: "And so natural!"

"Do you forgive me?"

"I have nothing to forgive. I have never demanded anything from you, and you have never, never promised me anything. When I first began to care for you, I was not a widow; you must therefore have judged me severely, as a man nearly always does judge the woman who is weak enough to care for him when she ought not to."

"I swear to you--"

"No, do not swear anything; you had all the more reason to judge me in that way, because I did not think it my duty to tell you what my life had been like until then. You doubtless believed that my husband was kind and affectionate, and that I endured no remorse, when I allowed myself to love you--"

"I did not think about it at all, I simply adored you," he said. And then hesitating, and with evident anxiety, he continued: "And now you will never care for me any more?"

"What!" she exclaimed, perfectly amazed at the unconscious selfishness of the man, "you wish me to go on caring for you?"

"You ask if I wish it? why, what would become of me without you? you who are my very life!" And then, as she moved back a step or two in sheer bewilderment, he went on: "Well, but whatever have you been imagining?--that I am going to marry Bijou, perhaps?"

"Why, yes."

He was about to explain to her why he could not marry his cousin, but it occurred to him that the very prosaic reason for the impossibility of such a match, would make his return to Madame de Nezel, of whom he was really very fond, appear as a slight to her.

"It has only been a pa.s.sing fancy that I have had for Bijou," he said.

"How could I help it? it is simply impossible to be always with her and to escape being intoxicated by her beauty, and by her unconscious and innocent coquetry. For the last fortnight I have been a fool--I am still, in fact; but on seeing you again I knew at once that it is you only whom I love, and belong to--heart and soul."

As he said this, he drew Madame de Nezel's pale face against his shoulder, and, bending down, pressed his lips to hers, and then, as the young widow nestled closer still in his arms, he said, with pa.s.sionate tenderness:

"How do you think that I could ever care for that child--with whom I am always so reserved--in the way I care for you?" He could feel her slender form trembling in his embrace, and, drawing her closer still, he murmured: "Forgive me, darling, you are always so good, and if I have sinned, it has only been in thought."

"You know I love you," she answered. "But we must go back to the house at once; they will think our walk is lasting a long time."

Madame de Juzencourt, who was seated on the terrace, called out as soon as she caught sight of them:

"Well, have you been walking all this time?"

And at the same moment M. de Rueille called out to Bijou, who had just appeared at one of the windows:

"So that's the way you come out to us! It's very kind of you."

"I could not come before," she answered, stepping out, and then approaching her cousin, she added, in a low voice: "I had to see to the tea and the ices, etc., etc.; you must not be vexed with me."

"Vexed with you!" exclaimed Pierrot warmly. "Could anyone be vexed with _you_, now?"

Bijou did not answer. She was watching Hubert de Bernes in an absent-minded way, as he stood talking to Bertrade, and she was wondering how it was that he was so cool in his manner towards herself. He was polite, certainly, and even pleasant, but _only_ polite and pleasant, and she was not accustomed to such moderation. M.

de Clagny appeared presently at one of the windows and called out:

"Mademoiselle Bijou, your grandmamma wants you."

Denyse ran into the house, her silk skirts rustling as she went. She did not even stay to answer young La Balue, who, pointing to Henry de Bracieux as he stood with the light showing up his profile, had just remarked:

"What a handsome man Henry is."

"Bijou," said the marchioness, "I want you to sing something for us."

"Oh! grandmamma, please"--she began, in a beseeching tone, and looking annoyed.

"M. de Clagny wants to hear you," said Madame de Bracieux, insisting.

"Oh, very well, then, I will, certainly," replied Bijou pleasantly, without taking into account that her way of consenting was not very flattering for the rest of her grandmother's guests.

She went to the piano, and, taking up a guitar, put the pink ribbon which was attached to it round her neck, and then came back and took up her position in the midst of the semi-circle formed by the arm-chairs.

"I am going to accompany myself with the guitar," she said; "it is simpler." And then turning to M. de Clagny, she asked: "What do you want me to sing? Do you like the old-fashioned songs?" and without waiting for a reply, she began the ballad of the "Pet.i.t Soldat":

"Je me suis engage Pour l'amour d'une blonde."

She had a good ear and a pretty voice, which she used skilfully, and it was with plaintive sweetness that she sang the touching story of the young soldier who "veut qu'on mette son coeur dans une serviette blanche."

The drawing-room soon filled when Bijou began to sing, and the various expressions on the different faces were most amusing to see.

Jean was listening in a nervous, excited way, pulling his fair moustache irritably through his fingers.

M. de Rueille, affected in spite of himself by the doleful air, and annoyed that all these people should be admiring Bijou, was pacing up and down at the other end of the drawing-room, pretending not to be listening to the music.

Pierrot, with his mouth open, was all attention. Young La Balue, with his elbow resting on a side-table in an awkward and ridiculous pose, kept his colourless eyes fixed on the young girl in a gaze which he tried to make magnetic, and with such bold persistency that Henry de Bracieux felt the most extraordinary desire to walk up to him and box his ears. Even Abbe Courteil was carried away by the plaintive ballad; he was deeply moved, and sat there with his eyes stretched wide open, breathing heavily. Hubert de Bernes only was listening with polite attention, but comparative indifference. As to the ladies, all, except, perhaps, Gisele de la Balue, admired Bijou sincerely.

Madame de Nezel was listening with a mournful expression in her eyes, and a kind-hearted smile, whilst as for M. de Clagny, it was as though all the sensitiveness and affection of his nature had gone out towards this pretty, fragile-looking, young creature. His eyes, beaming with tenderness, seemed to take in at the same time, the beautiful face, the little rosy fingers as they touched the strings of the guitar, and the slender, supple figure.

When Bijou had come to the end of her song, she went up to him, without paying any attention to the compliments that were being showered on her, and, in a pretty, coaxing way, she asked:

"It did not bore you too much, I hope?"

M. de Clagny could not answer for a moment. He felt choked with emotion.

"I shall often ask you for that song again," he said at last. "Yes, I shall come often, and you will sing me the 'Pet.i.t Soldat,' won't you?"

He had a great desire to hear Bijou sing for him--for him alone; he did not want to share her voice and her charm with all these people whom he now detested.

"You shall come as often as you please," she answered, looking delighted, "and I will sing you everything you like," and then gliding away she went across to Jean de Blaye, who was standing alone at the other end of the drawing-room. "It annoys you when I sing, doesn't it?" she asked him.

"Why, no!" he answered, surprised at the question, and surprised that Bijou should trouble about him. "Why should you think so?"

"Because I saw you just now--you were pulling your moustache in the most furious way, and you looked bored to death. Yes, you certainly did look bored!"

"It was just your own imagination."

"Oh, no! it was not just my imagination. When I care about anyone I am always very clear-sighted! so, you see, it is quite the contrary. Why are you frowning now?"

"I am not frowning."