"And with all that she's very pretty. How graceful she is under this aspect of wildness! What suppleness of form! Everything down to her complexion, gilded and freckled like an apple by the sun, looks lovely in these country surroundings. How well a wife like this would suit me; for I belong to this country and am destined to live here. Why couldn't Hervart have stayed among his Parisian women?" "He must be very fond of you," he went on, "and I envy his happiness in being allowed to be your friend. I shall come back, since you so desire, but I would rather not come back." "Why?" "Because I don't want to displease you." "But it won't displease me; far from it. Do explain." "If I come back, perhaps, I shan't have the strength of mind not to grow fond of you, and that will make you angry." "But why? How odd you are! Make yourself a friend of the house. I shall be very pleased." "But then I shan't be able to like you as you like M. Hervart." "Oh! I don't think that would be possible." "And you won't like me as you like him." She broke into such ingenuous laughter that Leonor assured himself that she had not understood anything of his insinuations. However, he was wrong, and her laughter proved it. She had laughed just because the idea had suddenly come to her that another man might have played Xavier's part in what had happened. The idea seemed to her comic and she had laughed. But the idea had come, and that was a great point. It was such a great point that in her turn she looked at Leonor, and this time she did not laugh; but she had no time to make any comparison, for at the same moment she pricked up her ears and said, "There he is." M. Hervart did not arrive till quite an appreciable time had passed, and Leonor said to himself: "She scents her lover as a pointer scents the game. Love is extraordinary." He abandoned himself to reflection, astonished at having learnt so many things in half an hour's walk with a young and simple-hearted girl. Rose was staring with all her eyes in the direction from which the sound of rustling leaves had come. Leonor stooped down behind her and kissed the hem of her skirt. CHAPTER X While he was alone, M. Hervart had done his best to make a decision, as he had promised himself to do; but decisions had fluttered like capricious butterflies round his head and would not let themselves be caught. He was neither surprised nor vexed at the fact. "Rose," he said to himself at last, "will do all I want." This certitude was enough for him. The moment he had a will, Rose would acquiesce. "Provided my will agrees with hers, that's obvious. Now Rose's wish is to become Mme. Hervart. Dear little thing, she's in love with me...." He dwelt complacently on this idea, but a moment later it alarmed him and he felt himself a prisoner. A hundred times over he repeated: