There was a merry look in her eyes as her pretty lips now framed the second sentence she had yet spoken: 'If you accepted all the invitations which were showered upon you yesterday you must have had a hard day's work?' 'But you are the only one I have called upon, madame,' he replied naïvely. He had scarcely uttered the words when a deep blush overspread his face. The significance of his reply was so apparent, the sentiments it expressed so sincere, that he felt quite abashed, like a child whose simple nature has led it to tell what it wished to keep secret. Had he not been guilty of familiarity that would shock this exquisite creature, this woman whose delicate perception no shade of meaning could escape, and upon whose sensitive nature the slightest want of tact would certainly jar? The pale pink of her cheeks and the silken gloss of her hair, the blue of her eyes, and the grace of all her person made her appear to him for the few seconds that followed his exclamation like some Titania, by the side of whom he was but an obscure and loutish Bottom. Before her he felt as clumsy in mind as he would have been in body had he tried to imitate any of her graceful movements--the way, for instance, in which she closed her handsomely worked blotting-book and with her fair hands put in order the knick-knacks that covered her table. An imperceptible smile hovered about her lips as the young man uttered his simple words. But how could he have seen that smile when his eyes were modestly cast down at the moment? How could he have guessed that his reply would be acceptable, although it was precisely the one that had been expected and even provoked? René was only certain of one thing--that Madame Moraines was as gentle and as kind as she was beautiful; instead of appearing offended or drawing back she tried to conquer the fresh fit of timidity that was beginning to seize him by replying to his foolish remark. 'Well, sir, I certainly deserve that preference, which would create a deal of jealousy if it were known, for no one admires your talent as much as I do. Your poetry contains such true and delicate sentiment. We women, you know, never judge by reason; our hearts criticise for us, and it is so seldom that a modern author manages to touch only the right chords. How can it be otherwise? We are faithful to the old ideals--ah! yes, I know that is not at all the fashion to-day--it makes one look almost ridiculous. But we defy ridicule--and then, besides, I have inherited these ideas from my poor father. It was always his fondest wish to do something towards raising the literary tone in our unhappy country. I thought of him as I listened to your verses; how he would have enjoyed them!'