"He would be for less cause than this. Jean never does things in a half-and-half way. If he were in love, I mean seriously, he would be desperately in love; and if he were to be desperately in love with Bijou, or if he were to discover that he was falling in love with her, it certainly would not be a thing for him to rejoice over. He cannot--no matter how much he might wish it--he cannot marry Bijou. It is not only that he is her cousin, but he is not rich enough." "He has about twenty thousand pounds. Bijou has eight thousand, to which I shall add another four thousand, that makes twelve thousand--total between them thirty-two thousand." "Well, and can you imagine Bijou with an income of about nine hundred pounds a year?" "No. I know that _she_ would consider it enough. She makes her own dresses; everyone says they do that, but, in this case, it is a fact. Then she is very industrious and clever; she understands housekeeping wonderfully well, and for the last four years has managed everything both here and in Paris; but I could not possibly reconcile myself to the idea of seeing her enduring the hardships of a limited income--and it would be limited. Good heavens! though, I hope she will not go and fall in love with Jean." "Oh, I do not think she will." "You see, he is charming, the wretch; and it appears he is a great favourite?" "Yes, certainly; but then Bijou is made so much of. She is surrounded and adored by everyone, so that she has not much time to fall in love herself!" "And then, too, she is such a child!" said the marchioness, glancing at her grand-daughter with infinite tenderness. Bijou was standing near the billiard-table watching the game, and laughing as she teased the players. At a little distance from her, the young professor was also standing motionless, watching her with a rapturous expression in his eyes. Suddenly Jean de Blaye rose abruptly, looking annoyed, and moved away in the direction of the door that led to the flight of steps going down to the garden. "Wait a minute!" called out Denyse, "wait, and let me give you a flower!" She went to the basket, and taking out a yellow rose scarcely opened, she crossed over to her cousin, and put it in his button-hole. "There!" she said, stepping back and looking satisfied, "you are very fine like that!" And then turning towards the tutor, she said in the most winning way, and with perfect ease: "Monsieur Giraud, will you have a rosebud too?" The young man took the flower, and, almost trembling with confusion, tried in vain to fasten it in his coat. "Ah! you can't do it!" said the young girl, taking it gently from him. "Let me put it in for you, will you?" He was so tall that, in order to reach his button-hole, she was obliged to stand on tip-toes. She slipped the flower through slowly, and with the greatest care, and when she had finished she gave a little tap to the shiny revers of the old coat, which were all out of shape and faded.