"I make no pretentious to gallantry, mademoiselle," replied Macreuse, sadly, but proudly. "I am only sincere--and the fear you inspire in me is real, only too real." "But why do I inspire you with fear?" "Because you have unsettled my life and my reason, mademoiselle, for from the first moment I saw you, without even knowing who you were, your image placed itself between me and the only previous objects of my adoration. Up to that time, I had lived only to pray to God and to cherish or mourn for my mother, while now--" "Good Heavens, monsieur, how tiresome all this is! What I say may surprise you, but it is the truth, nevertheless; for you see," continued Mlle. de Beaumesnil, assuming from this on the imperious and flippant tone and manner of a spoiled child, "I am in the habit of saying anything that comes into my head, unless I am absolutely compelled to play the hypocrite." It is needless to say that M. de Macreuse was astounded by this interruption, and above all by the manner in which it was made, for, from Mlle. Helena's reports, he had fully expected to find in Ernestine an artless, but deeply religious child; so, up to this time, he had carefully maintained a manner and a style of conversation which would be likely to please an unsophisticated devotee. Still, too wary to betray his astonishment, and ready to change his character at a moment's notice if that should prove necessary to put him in tune with the heiress, this pious young man replied, venturing a half smile--he had preserved a melancholy gravity up to that time: "You are right, mademoiselle, to say whatever comes into your head, particularly as only charming thoughts can find shelter there." "Really, monsieur, I like this kind of talk very much better. You were not at all amusing before." "It depends upon you, mademoiselle," responded Macreuse, risking a whole smile this time, and so transforming his formerly grief-stricken face by degrees, as it were, "and it will always depend upon you, mademoiselle, to change sorrow to gladness. Nothing is impossible to you." "Oh, as to that, there's a time for everything, I think. Now this morning at church I seemed sad, because church is so dull any way; besides, in order not to be outdone by Mlle. Helena I put on the most saintly airs imaginable, but in my secret heart I am awfully fond of gaiety and of amusing myself. By the way, what do you think of my gown?" "It is in exquisite taste. In its charming simplicity it is a delightful contrast to the gaudy attire of all the other young ladies; but they are excusable, after all, and you deserve very little credit, for they have need of outward adornments, while you can dispense with them, mademoiselle. Perfection needs no ornamentation."