In a docile way, Bijou went up to Madame de Bracieux.

"Well, grandmamma?" she said, when the marchioness had satisfied herself by putting her finger between the young girl's neck and her collar, "wasn't I right?"

"Yes, it's quite true," said Madame de Bracieux unwillingly, "she is not warm at all; it is incomprehensible! Well, stay as you are then, if you like." She made her grand-daughter turn round just in front of her, and then remarked, in a satisfied tone, "You look very well like that. Those little white, pique jackets are very becoming."

"They suit Bijou," said Bertrade, "because, with her complexion, everything suits her; but these little English jackets are very unbecoming to most women."

Abbe Courteil looked at the black skirt, the white jacket, and then at Bijou herself.

"At all events, the black and white together is perfectly charming.

Mademoiselle Denyse looks like a big swallow."

"Well, well!" exclaimed the marchioness, with a benevolent expression in her eyes, "that's very pretty, now, that comparison!"

Though she herself was the topic of conversation, Bijou was paying no attention to what was being said, but was talking in a pleasant way to M. Spiegel, a little apart from the others.

He was a serious, placid, young man, with a somewhat rigid expression.

His eyes, however, had a merry twinkle, which relieved the severity of his mouth, and the austerity of his deportment.

He was rather tall, and slightly made, and was dressed in dark clothes of a good cut. Altogether M. Spiegel might have pa.s.sed for a young clergyman. Fascinated and almost bewildered by Bijou's charm and wonderful beauty, he was gazing at her with a look of surprise and admiration in his eyes, whilst the young girl, for her part, kept stealing a glance at him, for she was quite astonished to find that Jeanne's _fiance_ was so satisfactory-looking.

Luncheon seemed to be very long. The marchioness's guests were all engaged in studying each other, some of them absent-minded and silent, and the others talkative, but singularly preoccupied also.

Madame de Bracieux was witnessing, without understanding in the least what it all meant, the change of att.i.tude, or, in fact, the transformation which had commenced a few days ago. She could scarcely recognise her little troop with whom she had hitherto been able to do just as she liked.

M. Spiegel and Bijou, who were placed next to each other at the table, were the only ones who talked with the animation of those who have something to say, and who are not talking for the mere sake of talking.

Several times Jeanne Dubuisson, seated on the right of M. Spiegel, turned towards him with a little flash in her usually soft blue eyes.

She was thinking, sorrowfully, that her _fiance_ certainly seemed to prefer looking at Bijou to looking at her, and a feeling of sadness came over her at the idea that she had never seen his eyes resting on her with as much expression in them as there was now when he gazed at Bijou.

Jeanne, who was nineteen, looked much older than Denyse, although she was a little like her. Her hair, which was fair like Bijou's, was less glossy, and not so auburn, although it was thicker; her eyes were of a less uncommon blue; her teeth were as white, but not so regular; her complexion was less brilliant, and her head not so well set on her shoulders.

Bijou, who was very short, wore very high heels in order to look taller, whilst Jeanne, who was tall enough, always wore flat-heeled boots.

The one fairly dazzled everyone by her wonderful beauty, whilst the other would pa.s.s by almost unnoticed, her chief claim to prettiness being a certain charm of expression, which betokened an unselfish disposition and a kind heart.

After luncheon, Bijou carried Jeanne off with her to the park which surrounded the chateau. She had scarcely seen her friend since her engagement.

"Why," asked Bijou, "did you tell me so calmly that M. Spiegel was rather good-looking?"

"Well, because I think he is," answered Mademoiselle Dubuisson. "Do you mean to say that you--"

"Oh, come now, don't act; you know perfectly well that he is more than _rather_ good-looking."

"But--"

"Yes, don't you see, from the description you gave me, I expected to see a nice young man with a goody sort of look about him--rather a bore, in fact--and then, instead, you bring us a most delightful man.

You ought to have prepared us; you ought not to give people such shocks--" And then, not giving Jeanne time to reply, she continued: "Where did you meet him?"

"This spring, at Easter, when we went to Bordeaux to stay with my aunt."

"And it was settled at once."

"No, but I liked him from the first."

"Yes, you are one of the affectionate kind."

"And I soon saw that he, too, liked very much to be with me."

"And then?"

"Well, then, we came away, and I felt wretched, of course. I thought I was mistaken, and that he did not care about me at all."

"You did not tell me anything about all that."

"No; in the first place I imagined that it was all over, and then I should not have liked to talk about it to anyone, not even to you; it seems to me that, about such matters--well, when one is in love, one should only talk about it to one's own self; that is the only way to be quite understood."

"Oh, then, you fancy that I do not understand anything about love?"

"About love such as I understand it? no! you are too pretty, you see, and then you are too much feted and adored by everyone to be able, as I have done, to satisfy and content yourself with an immense affection for one person only."

Bijou sighed, as she said regretfully:

"It must be so happy, though, to love anyone like that."

"Well, it would be easy enough for you; your cousin M. de Blaye adores you. Oh, it is no use denying it--it is so perfectly evident; I saw it instantly."

"You are dreaming--" said Bijou, looking astounded.

"Oh, dear, no! he is in love with you, madly in love with you, and he seems to me to be a man worthy of your love."

"Instead of talking nonsense, finish telling me the story of your engagement. We had got as far as where you left Bordeaux, thinking that all was over. What next?"

"Well, next, a fortnight ago, the professorship of philosophy was vacant, and papa was surprised to hear that M. Spiegel had been appointed to it. 'It is a come-down,' he said to me, 'for Pont-sur-Loire is not as good as Bordeaux'; but not at all--it was no come-down."

"It was he himself, then, who had asked for the change?"

"Exactly! and last Monday, he and his mother arrived at our house to ask papa's consent."

"What's his mother like?"

"Very nice, and good-looking still; but she seems rather severe, a little bit hard."

"Don't take any notice of that; Protestants always appear like that."

"How do you know that she is a Protestant?"

"Because I suppose that she is of the same religion as her son."