With a movement that I tried to make harmonious and supple, and even provocative, I knelt before him, and, while I was helping him to take off his boots, which were damp and covered with mud, I was perfectly conscious that the perfumes of my neck were exciting his nose, and that his eyes were following with increasing interest the outlines of my form as seen through my gown. Suddenly he murmured: "Great heavens! Célestine, but you smell good." Without raising my eyes, I assumed an air of innocence: "I, Monsieur?" "Surely, you; it can hardly be my feet." "Oh! Monsieur!" And this "Oh! Monsieur!" at the same time that it was a protest in favor of his feet, was also a sort of friendly reprimand,--friendly to the point of encouragement,--for his familiarity. Did he understand? I think so, for again, with more force, and even with a sort of amorous trembling, he repeated: "Célestine, you smell awfully good,--awfully good." Ah! but the old gentleman is making free. I appeared as if slightly scandalized by his insistence, and kept silence. Timid as he is, and knowing nothing of the tricks of women, Monsieur was disturbed. He feared undoubtedly that he had gone too far, and, suddenly changing his idea, he asked: "Are you getting accustomed to the place, Célestine?" That question? Was I getting accustomed to the place? And I had been there but three hours. I had to bite my lips to keep from laughing. The old gentleman has queer ways; and, really, he is a little stupid. But that makes no difference. He does not displease me. In his very vulgarity he reveals a certain power and masculinity which are not disagreeable to me. When his boots had been taken off, and to leave him with a good impression of me, I asked him, in my turn: "I see Monsieur is a hunter. Has Monsieur had a good hunt to-day?" "I never have good hunts, Célestine," he answered, shaking his head. "I hunt for the sake of walking,--for the sake of riding,--that I may not be here, where I find it tiresome." "Ah! Monsieur finds it tiresome here?" After a pause, he gallantly corrected himself. "That is to say, I did find it tiresome. For now, you see, it is different." Then, with a stupid and moving smile: "Célestine?" "Monsieur." "Will you get me my slippers? I ask your pardon." "But, Monsieur, it is my business." "Yes, to be sure; they are under the stairs, in a little dark closet, at the left." I believe that I shall get all that I want of this type. He is not shrewd; he surrenders at the start. Ah! one could lead him far.