“No, my old friend; though I am delighted to see you. I am on my way to St. Menehould, to put a few little affairs of mine in order. I have been appointed a member of the Federation, and I do not know how long we may be compelled to stay in Paris.” “What a pity that you have not got a third seat in your carriage. I also have business at St. Menehould, and I would have asked you to give me a lift.” “Good!” said M. Gerbaut; “all can be arranged. Sophie does not much care to go to St. Menehould. Do you, Sophie?” “I only care to go, so as to be with you, father.” “Well, then, stay here with Réné. You can stroll, in the wood, like two lovers, and we, like two old fogies as we are, will go and look after our affairs. If Réné were a young nobleman, I should not place so much trust in him; but he is a good lad, a clever workman, and an honest man, and as I would trust him with a purse, so will I trust him with my child.” I looked joyfully at Sophie, but she showed neither pleasure nor sorrow; she seemed to be exactly of her father’s opinion, that we might be trusted together. M. Gerbaut and Father Descharmes got into the vehicle, and drove off in the direction of the village of Islettes. CHAPTER XII. WHAT PASSED IN THE FOREST. For some time I followed the carriage with my eyes, for I feared to look at Sophie, as I could not help thinking that the expression of her face would decide my future happiness or misery. After a time I made up my mind; I turned round. Sophie had a smile on her lips, but it seemed as if the rest of her face was overshadowed with sadness. I offered her my arm, which she took. “What would you like to do?” I asked her. “Would you rather stay here, or take a stroll in the wood?” “Take me under the shadow of yon great trees, M. Réné. In my little chamber at Varennes I stifle for want of air.” “It is singular, Mdlle. Sophie, that I always believed that you preferred the town to the country.” “I prefer nothing. I live, that is all.” She heaved a sigh. The conversation fell. I threw a side glance at Sophie. She appeared fatigued and in pain. “You look pale,” said I; “and although you do not prefer the country to the town, I fancy it does you more good.” She shrugged her shoulders, by way of reply. “Perhaps,” said she. I turned towards my uncle’s cottage, all covered with ivy and creepers, surrounded by flowers and shadowed by the branches of chestnuts and beech-trees. It was beautiful, seen half in light and half in shadow. A cat was sleeping comfortably on the window-sill; two dogs were playing in front of the door; and a black-headed linnet was singing in its cage. It was a beautiful picture of contented country life. “Look, Mdlle. Sophie,” said I drawing her attention to the scene. “Would a little place like that, with a man who had the honor of being beloved by you, suffice for your ambition?” “Who told you that I had ambition, Réné?”