He stepped back from her as he answered:

"When one is not very good to start with, and one has trouble, it makes one go to the bad; it is inevitable!"

"And you have trouble?"

"Yes."

"Is it very bad?"

"Well, quite bad enough, thank you!"

"Poor Jean; things don't go as you want them to, then?"

"What do you mean? What are you talking about?"

"Why, about--oh, you know very well! I told you the other evening!"

"That again!" he said, getting more and more worked up; "how foolish you are!"

"What, do you mean that you do not care for Madame de Nezel?"

exclaimed Bijou.

"Madame de Nezel is a charming woman," he stammered out, in an embarra.s.sed way. "She is an excellent friend whom I like very much, very much indeed, but not in the way you imagine."

"Ah! so much the worse for you; she is a widow, and she is rich; she would just have suited you. Well, then, you like someone else?"

"Yes."

"Someone you cannot marry?"

"Exactly."

"Why? isn't she rich enough?"

"Oh, no, it is not that; if she had not a farthing it would be all the same to me; it is the other way round, I am not rich enough for her, and then--she would not have me."

"You do not know; you ought to tell her that you love her."

"Do you think so?"

"Why, of course--try that, at any rate."

"Very well, then, Bijou, I love you with all my heart--but I know that there is no hope, and, unfortunate wretch that I am, I dare not even ask for any."

"You love _me_!" she exclaimed, in deep distress, and then, stopping short, she repeated: "_you_--Jean?"

"Yes, and what about you? you detest me, do you not?"

"Oh, Jean, how can you say such things? You know very well that I love you, though not in the way you want me to, or as I should like to be able to, but very much, all the same; indeed I do."

She put her hand on his shoulder, obliging him to stand still, and then pa.s.sed her hand over his eyes.

"Oh, Jean," she exclaimed, in great grief, "tears, and all because of me! Oh, please, don't--no, indeed you must not; do you hear me, Jean?"

He took the little hand, which was stroking his face, and kissed it pa.s.sionately. Then putting Bijou, who was clinging to him, gently aside, he left her abruptly, and strode off alone.

XIII.

"THEN, you really mean that you are going?" asked Bijou sorrowfully, as Jeanne Dubuisson folded her dresses into the tray of a long basket trunk.

"Yes," answered the young girl, absorbed in what she was doing, and without even looking up. "I have been here a long time; it would be taking advantage to stay longer, you know."

"You know very well that it would be nothing of the kind; and it was almost settled that you were to stay until Monday, and then, all at once, you changed your mind. What is the matter?"

"Why, nothing at all. What do you imagine could be the matter?"

"If I knew, I should not ask you. Come, now! what can it be? you don't seem to find things too dull?"

"Oh, Bijou, however could I find things dull?"

"Oh, well, you might; and yet, you see your _fiance_ almost as much as when you were at Pont-sur-Loire."

"Oh, no--"

"Oh, yes; let us reckon, shall we? M. Spiegel went to Paris for Sat.u.r.day, Sunday, and Monday; Tuesday he came here to dinner with M.

Dubuisson; Wednesday he came alone; Thursday he managed to swallow the confirmation luncheon, poor man; Friday he was here to dinner; and every day we have been rehearsing our play either before or after dinner, so that he has never been away from you."

"Yes, that's true," answered Jeanne reluctantly; "but if he has not been away from me, he has scarcely troubled about me at all."

"How do you mean?"

"How? Oh! it is simple enough! He has only troubled about you; he has talked to no one but you."

"To me?"

"Yes, to you--there! I may as well own it, Bijou; I am jealous--frightfully jealous."

"Jealous of whom? Of me?" asked Denyse, with a startled look.

Mademoiselle Dubuisson nodded, and then she proceeded to explain, whilst the tears rose to her eyes:

"You must forgive me for telling you this. I can see that I am causing you pain, but it is better, is it not, to tell the truth, than to let you suspect all kinds of wrong reasons? You are not angry with me?"

"No; not at all!" And then Bijou added sorrowfully: "It is you who ought rather to be angry with me. But you are mistaken, I a.s.sure you!