They submitted, with renewed curtsies; Auguste took his seat between Denise and his little protege, with Mere Fourcy opposite; and at his lieutenant's invitation, Bertrand seated himself beside the aunt.

The meal, enlivened by Auguste's sallies, Bertrand's b.u.mpers, and the child's artless joy, aroused an unfamiliar sentiment in each of those who partook of it. Mere Fourcy, bursting with pride at the idea of dining with such a fine gentleman, sat a foot away from the table, and did not lift her gla.s.s without saluting the company. Bertrand was deeply gratified to sit at table with his lieutenant; and, desirous to prove that he was ever mindful of the respect he owed him, he maintained while eating the att.i.tude with which he would present arms; he did not lift his eyes from his plate, even to fill his neighbor's gla.s.s, the result being that he sometimes missed it. The child laughed and chattered, played with Auguste, and fed his goat. Denise spoke very little; she was embarra.s.sed and did not eat, and yet she was conscious of being very happy, seated beside the hare-brained youth who kissed every girl he saw, and who had the secret of winning the love even of those to whom he did not make love.

Auguste had never been in such high spirits as at that meal: he caressed the child, he joked with Mere Fourcy, he forced Bertrand to drink with him; it seemed to him that the fresh, pure air of the fields set him free from all the trammels of society, and that he breathed more freely, happy to be rid for a moment of etiquette and gallantry.

"Bertrand," said the young man, filling his gla.s.s; "I really believe that I am happier here than at a sumptuously-laden table, surrounded by pretty women covered with jewels, and served by an army of footmen."

"Here, monsieur, you see n.o.body but people who care for you, and who will not ruin you by compliments and courtesies."

"Well, Bertrand, when the others have ruined me, this is where I will come to seek consolation for the ingrat.i.tude of men and the perfidy of women. But you say nothing, Denise; does that mean that you don't approve of my plan?"

"No, monsieur," the girl replied under her breath; and her aunt exclaimed:

"Come, speak up, my child; you don't eat and you don't talk! Something's the matter, sure."

"It's a fact," said Auguste, "that you don't seem to share our merriment. What is the matter, Denise?"

"The matter, monsieur? Why, nothing, I give you my word."

"And I give you my word that something is the matter!" cried Mere Fourcy. "Pardi! for some time she's been all turned round; she don't like dancing, she don't like games, she don't know what she does like.

But I know all about it, I tell you; when a girl gets to be like that, it means that she's thinking about something.--Well, you needn't blush for that, my child; you're a good girl, as everyone knows; but that don't keep you from thinking about getting married, and I hope monsieur'll do us the honor to come to the wedding."

"Yes, most a.s.suredly," said Auguste, with a slight grimace; "yes, Denise, I shall be delighted to be a witness of your happiness; and as you love someone--You didn't tell me that you had made your choice."

Denise made no reply; she kept her eyes on her plate, and tried to conceal her confusion by caressing Coco's faithful companion.

Auguste rose abruptly from the table, and, without a word to the others, left the room in evident ill humor, and went out to walk in the garden.

He did not choose to admit to himself the nature of his feelings; but what Mere Fourcy said had caused him a pang. Even while he told himself again and again that he cared nothing for Denise, he felt in his heart that the young peasant's face aroused in him a sweeter emotion than those of all the coquettes in Paris.

He walked about at random through the winding paths, and did his utmost to recover his merry humor.

"I can't understand myself," he thought; "losing my temper because that girl loves someone, and that someone is not I! I! Why on earth should she love me, whom she has seen but three times, and of whom she knows nothing? I must have a deal of self-love to dream that she could care for me. But no, I feel that it is not vanity that makes me wish that she should.--Well, I must return to Paris and forget this little milkmaid. That will be easy enough; for what is there so extraordinary about her? There are a thousand women in Paris prettier, more alluring, more----"

Auguste stopped short, for, happening to turn his head, he saw Denise within a few yards. He fixed his eyes on the girl, who seemed afraid to go forward and stood beside a tree. Her confusion, her flushed face, the furtive glances that she cast at the young man, gave to her whole person a grace and charm which art could not imitate; and Auguste said under his breath: "No, there's not a woman in Paris to be compared with her."

Surprised to see their guest leave the table so abruptly, Denise had followed him at a distance. She remembered what Bertrand had told her, and as she desired nothing so much as that Auguste should come often to the village, she determined carefully to conceal her secret sentiments.

Auguste walked toward her; for some time they stood face to face, without speaking; at last the young man said, trying to a.s.sume an indifferent manner:

"So you love someone, Denise?"

"Yes, monsieur," the girl replied, blushing and keeping her eyes on the ground.

"If I remember rightly, when I first met you, in the little path in the woods, you told me that you had no lover."

"That was true, monsieur."

"Then you have given your heart away since that time?"

Denise sighed and held her peace.

"I have no right to question you," continued Auguste sharply; "but it is the interest you arouse in me, the--Do you know, Denise, I was sadly mistaken, for I thought that you loved me a little."

"Oh, no! I don't love you, monsieur--not with love. I must tell you that, as you wouldn't come to the village any more if it wasn't so. But I do hope you'll come, monsieur; oh, yes! you must come to see the child you've adopted! I shan't forget that I'm only a peasant and you're a gentleman from the city; and I a.s.sure you that I shall never love you."

As she finished, the girl turned away so that Auguste could not see the tears that fell from her eyes. But he was already far away, striding toward the house. He entered the living-room and said:

"Come, Bertrand, we must return to Paris."

"Return to Paris it is, lieutenant; I'm all ready to do four leagues an hour. Adieu, mamma; your wine's very nice. Some day when Schtrack has the time, I'll bring him down here to reconnoitre."

The girl entered the room and tried to read Auguste's eyes; but he said to her without looking at her:

"Adieu, Denise, we're off."

"Already!" cried Denise; "you seemed to be so comfortable here!"

"Yes, I am very comfortable here; that is true; but business calls me back. I will see you again, Denise; I will come again to see you."

"You won't let so long a time go by without coming to see Coco?"

"No, I promise you that. Take this--it's for him. I have no need to commend him to you, you are so kind!"

"Oh! as to that, monsieur, she loves the child as if he was her brother."

"But what is the use of leaving me so much money, monsieur?"

"His house is falling to pieces; you must have it repaired; then have the little garden behind it enclosed, and buy the whole place for my little boy."

"But, monsieur, this is three thousand francs that you've given me, and it won't take so much money for that."

"Take it, I insist; and if it isn't enough,--here is my address in Paris. Write me, Denise, and you shall hear from me at once."

Auguste tossed his card on the table, and kissed the child.

"Good-bye, my kind friend!" said the little fellow, throwing his arms about Auguste's neck. Mere Fourcy made the young man a curtsy, which lasted as long as it took to count the three thousand francs. Denise glanced at him with an embarra.s.sed air, expecting that he would kiss her; but he did nothing of the sort. After bidding the child adieu, he bowed to the others, sprang lightly to his saddle, and rode away with Bertrand, leaving the girl greatly depressed by the cold manner in which he had left her.

"What does it mean?" she said to herself; "he stayed away because he was afraid he'd fall in love with me, and now he acts as if he didn't like it because he knows I'm not in love with him. What should I do, so that I can see him often?"

As he trotted along beside his lieutenant, Bertrand, as his custom was, ventured to indulge in a few observations.

"It's a fine thing to be generous, certainly, and we shouldn't regret the money we give to do good. Still, monsieur, it seems to me that three thousand francs is a good deal just at this time when our cash-box isn't very well supplied; you might have embarra.s.sed yourself less by giving it in several instalments, and it would have amounted to the same thing."

"I probably shall not come to the village again for a long while," said Auguste pensively.

"Oh! that makes a difference, and I am wrong."