"Better not disturb Gratienne. She's so suspicious. Whom shall I write to, then? My colleagues? No, I'm not on intimate enough terms. Gauvain, the animal-shop man? That would be humiliating. What a bore it all is! Leave it; we'll see later on. And after all, what's the matter? A little sentimental friendship. Rose lives such a lonely life. Why should I rob her of the innocent pleasure of playing--at sentiment with me? Summer-holiday amusements...." "Oh," said Rose, "look at that beetle. Isn't he handsome." But the animal, superb in its gold and sapphire armour, had disappeared under the dead leaves. They thought no more about it. Rose was occupied by very different thoughts. She felt herself filled with an exultant tenderness. "I don't belong to myself anymore. It's very thrilling. What is going to happen? He'll kiss me on the eyes. There'll be no resisting, because I belong to him." She lifted her head and looked at M. Hervart She seemed to be offering her eyes. Without changing her position she closed them. A kiss settled lightly on her soft eyelids. "He does everything I expect him to do. Does he read my thoughts or do I read his?" Meanwhile M. Hervart was trying to find something gallant or sentimental to say, and could think of nothing. "I might praise her chestnut hair, with its golden lights, tell her how fine and silky it is. But is it? And besides, it might be a little premature. What shall I praise? Her mouth? Its rather large. Her nose? It's a little too hooked. Her complexion? Is it a compliment to say it's pale and opaque? Her eyes? That would look like an allusion. They're pretty, though--her eyes, the way they change colour." He had picked a blade of grass as he walked. It was covered with little black moving specks. "What a bore," said M. Hervart, "I've forgotten to bring my microscope." "I've got one, only the reflector's broken. It will have to be sent to Cherbourg." "Couldn't you take it yourself?" "If you like." "But wouldn't you enjoy it, Rose?" She was so pleased at being called Rose, that for a moment she did not answer. Then she said, blushing: "You see, I scarcely ever go out of this place: the idea hardly occurs to me. But I should love to go with you." She added with a spoilt child's tone of authority: "I'll go and tell father. We'll start after luncheon." M. Hervart looked once more at his indecipherable grass blade. "I know a good shop," he said. "Lepoultel the marine optician. Do you know him? He's a friend of Gauvain's...." "The animal man?" "What, do you mean to say you remember that?" "I remember everything you tell me," answered Rose, very seriously.