Her progress, however, was none the less real for not being expressed in words or by play of feature; the fire was kindled in the honest German's heart, and, being fanned every day by Dame Perrine's presence, became a veritable volcano. Hermann began at last to be conscious of the preference Dame Perrine accorded him, and he was only waiting until he was a little more certain of it to declare himself. Dame Perrine understood his hesitation. One evening, as he parted from her at the door of the Petit-Nesle, she saw that he was so agitated that she thought it would be a real kindness on her part to press his hand. Hermann, transported with delight, responded by a similar demonstration; but to his great amazement Dame Perrine gave a piercing shriek. In his delirious bliss, Hermann did not measure his pressure. He thought that the tighter he squeezed her hand, the more accurate idea he would convey of the violence of his passion; and he very nearly crushed the poor governess's fingers. Hermann was thunderstruck by her shriek; but Dame Perrine, fearing to discourage him just as he had summoned up courage to make his first advance, forced herself to smile, and said, as she separated her fingers, which were almost glued together for the moment:-- "It's nothing, nothing, dear Monsieur Hermann; it's nothing, absolutely nothing." "Tausend pardons, Matemoizelle Perrine," said the German, "but I lofe you sehr viel, and I haf pressed your hant as I lofe you! Tausend pardons!" "There's no need, Monsieur Hermann, there's no need. Your love is an honorable love, I trust, which a woman need not blush to win." "O Tieu! O Tieu!" cried Hermann, "indeed, my lofe is honorable, Matemoizelle Perrine; put I haf not yet tared to speak to you of it; put since die wort haf escaped me, I lofe you, I lofe you, I lofe you sehr viel, Matemoizelle Perrine." "And I, Monsieur Hermann," said Dame Perrine mincingly, "think I can say, for I believe you to be a gallant youth, incapable of compromising a poor woman, that--Mon Dieu! how shall I say it?" "Oh say it! say it!" cried Hermann. "Well! that--ah, it is wrong of me to confess it!" "Nein, nein! it is not wrong. Say it! say it!" "Very well. I confess that I am not indifferent to your passion." "Sacrement!" cried the German, beside himself with joy. Now one evening when, after a promenade, the Juliet of the Petit-Nesle had escorted her Romeo to the door of the Grand-Nesle, she espied as she was returning alone through the garden door, the white spectre we have mentioned, which, in the opinion of the worthy governess, could be no other than that of the monk. It is needless to say that Dame Perrine entered the house half dead with fear, and barricaded herself in her room.