"Is it you, monsieur," she said; "I am glad you have come; you are a good musician and can help me decipher this piece." The young man did not reply, but continued to gaze at Constance, who, being accustomed to his peculiar and often taciturn humor, did not at first observe that anything was wrong; but, finding that he did not approach, she turned again, and then his evident excitement did not escape her notice. "What is the matter, monsieur?" she asked, with manifest concern; "you seem excited." "Oh! nothing's the matter, mademoiselle; what could be the matter?" "I am sure I don't know; you are not in the habit of telling me your troubles." There was a faint tinge of reproach in the tone in which Constance made this remark. Frédéric sat down beside her, and seemed to try to read in her eyes; never before had he looked at her with such an expression, and Constance, in her surprise, felt that she was blushing, and averted her lovely eyes. "You are afraid that I shall guess what is taking place in your heart," said Frédéric, affecting an ironical tone to dissemble his suffering. "I, monsieur! on my word, I don't know what you mean; I don't understand you. Why should I fear to allow my thoughts to be read? I am conscious of no guilt; and if it were otherwise, you are not the one to reprove me." "Oh! certainly not! you are entirely free as to your feelings, mademoiselle; I know that I have no claim to your heart." "Mon Dieu! what is the matter, Monsieur Frédéric? really, you alarm me; your agitation is not natural." "What is the matter! Ah! Constance, you love another, and you ask me that question!" Mademoiselle de Valmont was speechless with surprise; Frédéric had never called her by that name before, and are not the words: "You love another" equivalent to: "You should love no one but me"? A wave of blissful emotion surged in Constance's heart, which beat faster and with greater force; joy and happiness shone in her eyes, and her voice was softer than ever, as she said: "I, love another! Mon Dieu! what does he mean? Explain yourself, Frédéric: I don't understand." The dear girl had understood but one thing, and that was that Frédéric did not want her to love another; and that was enough to make her understand that he loved her. For a long time, she had hoped that she had inspired the sweetest of sentiments in Frédéric's heart; but he had never said a word to her on the subject, nothing that signified: "I love you;" and even when everything tends to that conclusion, a woman longs none the less to hear the words. Again Frédéric was silent; he sighed long and loud, but said nothing. "Will you speak, monsieur? what has happened to disturb you so to-day?--what have I done to deserve your reproaches? Explain yourself clearly; I insist upon it--do you hear, monsieur? I insist upon it."