I was talking with Marie and her aunt when my overseer entered. I became very red, very much embarrassed; the man never noticed it; he made me a low and respectful bow. "_Tiens_, you know M. Arthur?" asked Madame Kerouët. "Have I the honour of knowing M. le comte?" repeated the overseer, with surprise. "M. le comte!" cried out at the same time Marie and her aunt as they rose up with bewildered looks. Fearing the man would put a bad interpretation on my reasons for hiding my name, I said to him: "You are very stupid, Rivière. I wished to get some information about the state of cultivation of this farm, as I thought of raising the rent, now you have come and spoiled all. Please go and wait for me at Serval, for I want to talk about it with you." The overseer went out. "You have deceived us, M. le comte!" said Madame Kerouët to me, with much dignity. "It was very wrong in you." Marie said not a word, but disappeared without even looking at me. "And why was it wrong?" said I to that excellent woman. "If I had told you who I was, your scruples would never have allowed you to treat me with such freedom and cordial affection as you have always manifested towards me. I should have remained towards you the master of this farm, and would never have become your friend." "There can be no safe, no possible friendship except between equals, M. le comte," said Madame Kerouët, with great coolness. "But in what way are our positions different at the present hour? If my friendship was pleasant to you until now, why should we change our relations? Why should we forget four or five months of charming intimacy?" "I shall not forget them, M. le comte, but they shall give place to sentiments more suitable to the modest position of Marie and myself." One of the farm women came then to find Madame Kerouët, and begged her to go to Marie. She bowed to me respectfully and went out. I left the farm in a violent rage with my overseer. Then I reflected that, after all, this _incognito_ could not be kept up for ever, and, though the discovery might have been a shock to Marie, it certainly would not alter her love for me. SERVAL, 15th December, 18--. I have seen Marie once more. For some days she was sad and distressed at my dissimulation, which she could not understand. She asked why I had thus concealed my name. I told her that, knowing false and malignant stories had reached her ears, which showed me in the very worst colours, I had preferred being unknown. It was hard to convince her, but I finally succeeded in chasing all these unhappy impressions from her mind. Though Madame Kerouët frowns on me sometimes, our intimacy, which for a time was threatened, has resumed all former charm. SERVAL, 20th December, 18--. Marie loves me, she loves me, I can no longer have any doubt. May this day remain ever engraved in my heart! SERVAL, 30th December, 18--.