Hervart did not reply. He had grown pale and his heart had begun beating violently. His thoughts were in confusion; his head whirled. "What do you think of the idea?" Mme. Des Boys insisted. He withheld his answer, for he knew that his voice would seem quite changed. He murmured; "Hum," or something of the sort, something that simply meant that he had heard the question. But bit by bit he recovered. The happy idea came to him that time. Des Boys was a nullity in the family and had little influence over her daughter. "Nothing that she says has any importance. I'll agree with her." "I entirely agree with you," he pronounced, "My daughter's a curious creature," went on Mme. Des Boys, "but your approbation will perhaps be enough to convince her. You have a great deal of influence over her." "I?" "She's very fond of you. It's obvious." "I'm such an old friend," said M. Hervart courageously. His cowardice made him blush. "Why shouldn't I confess? Why not say, 'Yes, she does like me, and I like her, why not?' Isn't my desire evident? Can I go away, leave her, do without her?..." But to all these intimate questions M. Hervart did not dare to give a definite answer. "What I should like is that the present moment should go on for ever...." "They have hardly spoken to one another, and yet," Mme. Des Boys continued, "I seem to see between them the beginnings of ... what?... how shall I put it?..." "The beginnings of an understanding," prompted M. Hervart with ironic charity. "Why not love? There's such a thing as love at first sight." "Oh, Rose is much too well bred." The silliness of this woman, so reasonable and natural, none the less, in her rôle of mother, exasperated M. Hervart even more than the insinuations to which he had been obliged to listen. Ceasing, not to hesitate, but to reflect, he said abruptly: "I shall be very sorry to see her married." Mme. Des Boys pressed his hand: "Dear friend! yes, it will make a big difference in our home." She went on, after a moment's hesitation: "Not a word about all this, dear Hervart; you understand. And now I think that the _tête-a-tête_ has perhaps gone on long enough; it would be very nice of you if you'd go and join them." M. Hervart, impatient though he was, made his way slowly through the meanders of the little copse. Like Panurge, he kept repeating to himself, "Marry her? or not marry her?" His head was a clock in which a pendulum swung indefatigably. He sat down on the little bench where, for the first time, he had fell the girl's head coming gently to rest on his shoulder. He wanted to think. "I must come to a decision," he said to himself. Leonor had noticed that, from the moment their walk had begun, Rose was on the alert at the slightest noise. "She expects him. That means he'll come. So much the better. I care very little about this schoolgirl. We're alone now; no more compliments. I'm simply a landscape gardener at the orders of Mlle. Rose Des Boys. What a name!..."