"You are not drinking anything, Monsieur Sylvestre," said Bijou, approaching the tray which had been brought in, and pouring out the lemonade for the young man. The glass which she passed to him showed the effect of the contact of her hand. "Are you not still too warm to drink?" she asked. "This lemonade is very cold." He took the glass with a hand that trembled slightly, and stood there, with his arm stretched out, looking at Bijou with passionate admiration. "Monsieur Sylvestre," she said, smiling, "a penny for your thoughts." The young man's face, which was already red, flushed deeper still. He drank his lemonade at a draught, and hurried to the piano. "Let us begin, mademoiselle! shall we?" he said, and he played the short symphony of the song in a hesitating way, as though his fingers refused to act. This was so noticeable, that Denyse asked him: "What is the matter with you? you are not in form to-day, at all." "Oh, it's nothing, mademoiselle; I--it is so warm." Being rather short-sighted, and never using a lorgnette, Bijou was obliged to bend forward to read the words of the song, and sometimes, in doing so, she touched the professor's hair or shoulder. This served to increase his agitation, and at times he could scarcely see what he was playing, whilst his fingers would slip off the notes. "Really, you are not at all in form to-day," repeated Bijou, surprised. "I beg your pardon, mademoiselle, I--I don't know what is the matter with me." "Nor I either; I can't tell at all," she said, laughing. He was getting up from the piano, but she begged him to sit down again. "No! if you don't mind," she said, "I should like to work up two or three old songs." She began at once to read at sight, bending over in order to see better, whilst the poor young man, who was now pale, did his best to follow her, in spite of the buzzing in his ears and the clamminess of his fingers. When the lesson was over, Bijou went to fetch her hat, and then came back and put it on at the glass near the piano. Instead of putting his violin into its case, M. Sylvestre stood watching her as she lifted her arms, and drew her pretty figure up with a graceful swaying movement. "Be quick!" she said, "we are going to take you back to Pont-sur-Loire, or rather M. de Clagny, one of our friends, is going to take you on his coach." Denyse saw that he did not understand, so she went on to explain: "It's a large carriage, and holds a good number of people." "Are you going, too?" he asked excitedly. "I am going, too--yes, Monsieur Sylvestre." He was just taking from his violin-case a little bunch of forget-me-nots and wild roses, which were already drooping their poor little heads. He held them out timidly to Bijou. "As I came along, mademoiselle, I--I took the liberty of gathering these flowers for you." She took them, and after inhaling their perfume for a minute or two, put them into her waistband. "Thank you so much for having thought of me," she said.