To overturn his projected marriage, to ruin his future for the sake of the gipsy, for the sake of the unworthy passion that was at work within him--most assuredly Renaud had no such idea. When the first fury of his desire was worked off by wild leaps and bounds, after the fashion of his horse Prince, he found a way to be reconciled with himself. His rugged honesty was impaired. He would try to satisfy his passion for the accursed gipsy when occasion offered; and that, he felt very sure, would do Livette no wrong! Like a clever casuist, he combated his own instinctively honest impulses with arguments which he invented with much labor, and then complacently refined and elaborated, playing tricks upon himself. Now that he could boast of having fought Rampal on Livette's account,--omitting in his thoughts the other two reasons he had had for fighting, namely, his determination to recover the stolen horse and his desire to display his strength and courage to Zinzara,--he could return to the Château d'Avignon with his head in the air, and meet his fiancée again as if nothing had happened. Why, after all, should he be ashamed? Had he not established a fresh claim to Livette's gratitude and the esteem of her relatives? He would take poor Blanchet back to her,--Blanchet, of whom she was so fond,--and he could tell old Audiffret that the stolen horse was once more browsing, with the drove, on the reed-grass of the estate. No: after mature reflection, he was sure that there was nothing that need make him ashamed. Indeed, when one is not married, is he required to be so absolutely faithful? And what is a man to do, when things fall in his way? The eyes see before one has had an opportunity to prevent them! Even after marriage, can one refrain from being moved by the sight of youthful loveliness? Can one control the movements of his blood? Desire is not a sin, and so long as Livette knew nothing, so long as she did not suffer through him, what reason had he, in all frankness, for self-reproach? Nothing had come about by his procurement. He was still determined not to speak to the gipsy woman--but he would be a great fool not to put out his hand if the golden peach should offer itself to him voluntarily. And the salt breeze that blew across the rushes, arousing the passions of the wild cattle, rushed through his veins, causing the blood to rise in sudden flushes to his cheeks. Of what avail against that breeze, which the heifers inhale with delight, is the "I will not" of a young man who feels his youth? The good Lord forgives it in others. "I have been worrying a great deal over a very small matter of late," thought Renaud. And he sagely concluded that he would return at once to Saintes-Maries, to set Livette's mind at rest, as it was his duty to do first of all, without avoiding or seeking out the other. Meanwhile, what had Livette been doing?