She leaned an elbow on her knee and her chin upon her knuckles while I devoured what remained. Her eyes dreamed into the thronging tree-trunks. I thought the real softness of her soul was beginning to quicken like a February narcissus. “But how I long for meat!” she said, suddenly. I laughed. “If mademoiselle will retain me in her service, I will make shift to provide her with a dish of pork.” She turned and looked at me. “Is it true you have sought me out? I have no knowledge of your face.” “It will not, like mademoiselle’s, impress itself on the imagination. I have seen you, by chance, twice before, mademoiselle, and therefore it follows, in the logic of gallantry, that I am here.” She drew herself up at that word I was foolish enough to utter. “I perceive, monsieur, that you hold the licence of your tongue a recommendation to my service. Is this another message with the delivery of which you would not insult me?” “Nay, mademoiselle, I spoke the common fashion of more trivial times than these; and I ask your pardon. It is to save you from the possibility of insult that I have wandered and starved these many days.” She looked at me very gravely. “I foresee no danger in these solitudes. I am sorry, monsieur; but I cannot accept your service.” She rose to her feet and I to mine. “Mademoiselle,” I cried, “be wise to reconsider the question! A delicate and high-born lady, solitary and defenceless amongst these barbarous hills! But I myself, on my journey hither, have encountered more than one perilous rogue!” She shook her head. “I take it as I find it. Besides, I have always a covert into which I can slip on menace of a storm.” “But this is madness!” “By monsieur’s account that is the present condition of our family,” she said, frigidly. “See, mademoiselle--I ask nothing but that I may remain near you, to help and protect, your guard and your servant in one.” She made as if to go. “You fatigue me, monsieur. It is not the part of a gentleman to impose his company where it is not desired. You will not remain by my consent.” “Then I shall remain nevertheless!” I cried, a little angrily. “I must not allow mademoiselle to constitute herself the victim to a false sentiment.” She left me without another word, going off to her pigs; and I flung myself down again in a pet by the brookside. * * * * * * *