"Paul! Oh, yes, that's true; I was not thinking of him! Anyhow, the unmarried persons are in the majority--Henry, Pierrot, Monsieur Courteil, M. Giraud, Jean--well, what's the matter with Jean? he does look queer!" Jean de Blaye was seated in an arm-chair, with his eyes half-closed and his head resting on his hand, looking very drowsy. "I have a headache!" he answered; and then, as Bijou persisted, and wanted to know what had given him a headache, he exclaimed gruffly: "Well, what do you want me to say? It's a headache; how can I tell what's given it me? It comes itself how it likes--that's all I know!" Bijou had gone behind the arm-chair in which her cousin was lounging. "You must have a very, very bad headache to look as you do," she said, not at all discouraged by his abrupt manner, and noticing his pale face, his drawn features, and his eyes, with dark circles round them, "and for you to own, too, that there is anything the matter with you; because you always set up for being so strong and well. Poor Jean, I do wish you could get rid of it." She bent forward, and pressing her lips gently on the young man's weary eyelids, remained like that a few seconds. Jean de Blaye turned pale, and then very red, and rose hastily from his chair. "You startled me," he said, in an embarrassed way, not knowing where to look, "how stupid I am; but I did not see you were so near, so you quite surprised me." M. de Clagny had risen, too, in an excited way on seeing Bijou kiss her cousin. It occurred to him though, at once, how very ridiculous his jealousy would appear, and he sat down again, saying in a jesting tone: "Well, if that remedy does not take effect, de Blaye's case is incurable." M. de Rueille looked enviously at Jean, who was just going out of the drawing-room, and then, turning to Bijou, he remarked, in a hoarse voice: "When I have a headache, and, unfortunately, that is very often, you are not so compassionate." M. Giraud remained petrified in the little low chair in which he had taken his seat. His eyes were fixed on the ground, and his lips pressed closely together; he looked as though he had seen nothing. As for Pierrot, he exclaimed candidly: "What a lucky beggar that Jean is!" "Undoubtedly, undoubtedly," replied Abbe Courteil, with conviction; "but, all the same, he certainly has a very bad headache--Monsieur de Blaye. I know what it is to have a headache." The marchioness bent forward to whisper to Bertrade, whilst looking all the time at Bijou. "Isn't she sweet, that child, and so good-hearted, and, above all, so natural. Did you see how innocently she kissed that simpleton of a Jean, and how it startled him?" "Oh! as to startling him! he was rather upset by it, poor fellow, and he wanted to explain away the fact that he was upset by it; that is about all." "Do you think so? with him, one never knows."