"I know that, my friend; oh! I am certain of that!" cried Frédérique, pressing my hand. "But probably that is just why she loves you! Women are made that way; it's a congenital defect in them. If you had spoken of love to Mignonne, it is very probable that she would have taken offence at it, and would have ceased to come to your rooms. But when she found that you always treated her like a sister, confidence returned--she reproached herself for her distrust; well, at all events, she loves you, that is certain! We all know that that sentiment is not governed by reason." "Well, Frédérique, if you have guessed right, if that young woman does love me--which would distress me greatly, I confess--what do you advise me to do? Of course, you do not want me to cease to help the unfortunate creature, to abandon her?" "Why, no; of course not!" "If I tell her not to come to my rooms any more--she is very sensitive, like all unfortunate people, and she will go away forever." "Are you willing to rely on me, my friend?" "I ask nothing better." "I will tell you what, it seems to me, would cure the whole trouble--but I am afraid you will not like my plan." "Oh! how terrible you are to-day with your reticences!" "Listen! While I was absent from Paris, you didn't know where I was, did you?" "No; you didn't tell me." "As you didn't ask me, I thought that you were not interested. Well, monsieur, I was at a charming country house that I had hired--and it is still mine, because I took it for a year, all furnished and equipped. I had nothing to do but to go there, and that was not much trouble; for the house is at Fontenay-sous-Bois, close to Vincennes--only two leagues and a half from Paris. I was not very far away, monsieur, as you see. So that I came often to Paris, and knew everything that happened here." "And you propose to send Mignonne to your country house?" "No, not that. In the first place, she would probably refuse to go to any house of mine. You must do the opposite of that--you must--that is, if it won't be too much of a bore to you--pass some time yourself in that retreat. It is only the last of July, and the weather is fine. But perhaps country life is tedious to you?" "Not at all! But you will go with me, of course; you will keep me company?" "Most assuredly! Must I not do the honors of my house?" "Your plan is delightful, Frédérique, and I accept with the greatest pleasure!" "Really! you are really willing to go into the country with me? The prospect doesn't alarm you--you're not afraid of being bored?" "Is that possible, with you?"