"I have sworn it, my friend. Tell me, what are you going to do to-day? Would you like to pass the day with me?" "Would I like it! You anticipate my dearest wish." "The weather is magnificent; what do you say to a ride? We can go and hire some horses at the riding school, where I usually hire; they have some very good ones." "A ride? delightful!" "Then get ready quickly, monsieur. I will wait for you in your salon." She left the room. I hastily finished dressing, and joined her in the salon. "Your young seamstress doesn't seem to be here to-day," said Frédérique, with a smile. "No, she came yesterday. She doesn't come regularly, every day, but just when she pleases." "My friend, I was most unjust to that young woman. Such things as I said to her! Really, I don't know what had got into my head that day!" "As you're sorry for it, you mustn't think any more about it." "Oh! I shall try to make my peace with her, all the same. Let us go and have our ride, my friend." We were soon in the saddle, and started off at a gallop. Frédérique rode with all the grace, assurance, and fearlessness of a circus rider. We went in the direction of the forest of Meudon, and Fleury. In that region one is more alone than in the Bois de Boulogne; the country is more rural, the landscape more diversified, and you can draw rein from time to time and indulge in pleasant converse. We passed a delightful day. At night we dined together at a restaurant, like two bachelors--that is to say, we dined in the main dining-room. And when we parted, Frédérique said: "Not for long!" The next day, when I returned home after doing several errands, I found Mignonne in her usual place. She bade me good-morning as usual, but her glance seemed less frank than it usually was. We all have days when we are inclined to melancholy; perhaps she had just come from her child's grave. I chatted with Mignonne as usual. I fancied that I could see that she was waiting for Pomponne to leave us alone. But when I had company, that servant of mine always found some excuse for constantly going in and out and appearing every minute or two in the room where we were. I have known him to leave a pin on the mantel, as a pretext for returning, and, when he came for it, to leave another in its place. I had to call to him sternly: "When will you have done with that nonsense?"--He realized that I was losing patience, and he came no more to fetch his pins. At last, Mignonne decided to speak. "Has that lady who was here the other day been to see you again, monsieur?" she asked hesitatingly. "Yes, Mignonne, she has. We had had a little dispute, but we are reconciled now. She has a hot head, but an excellent heart." "Did she tell you that it was wrong of you to let me work here?" "On the contrary, she said several times that she was very sorry that she had said things to you that might have hurt you, and that she hoped to make her peace with you." "Oh! mon Dieu! that isn't worth while, monsieur."