Time passes very swiftly when we are writing poetry for her we love. Frédéric was still leaning over his notebook and writing busily, when he heard a faint sound; he turned his head and saw Sister Anne behind him, watching him with deep interest. She blushed when he detected her, but Frédéric set her mind at rest, and, bidding her sit down beside him, read what he had written. Sister Anne had no idea what poetry was; but she understood Frédéric's meaning in what he read. The heart is the key to an unsophisticated woman's mind; the opposite is true of women of worldly training. The girl was already less shy and embarrassed in Frédéric's presence; at sixteen, one is quick to make acquaintances, especially when one has no knowledge of the customs of society or of its laws. Frédéric was so gentle and kind and sympathetic! he pitied her, he talked of her sad story, and the poor orphan was surprised to find that there was somebody besides old Marguerite who was interested in her destiny. The village people always manifested much sympathy and pity for her; but there is in that sentiment something distressing to its object. But that was not what she read in Frédéric's eyes. He talked to her with deep interest and looked at her with affection, and she was already beginning to feel less unhappy. But the approach of night found them still seated by the stream. They had been there two hours, to their great surprise. Anne rose and pointed to Frédéric's horse; then turned her eyes anxiously toward the village, the woods, and the mountains, and lastly upon Frédéric himself. "I am going to Grenoble," he said; "I am staying there now with two friends, who may be alarmed by my long absence. But I will come again to-morrow, I will come every day. Do you think that I could pass a single day without seeing you?" The girl smiled, and seemed more content; she went with him to where his horse was waiting; he pressed her soft hand to his lips, and finally made up his mind to return to the city. Sister Anne went to the edge of the woods, in order to follow him with her eyes as far as the twilight permitted. Not until she could no longer hear his horse's step, did she return slowly to the cabin, pensive and dreamy, surprised by the unfamiliar sensations of which she was conscious, but which she could not understand. XII HOW A MAN LOVES AT TWENTY "Where in the devil have you been?" Dubourg inquired of Frédéric, who arrived at the inn just as his two companions were sitting down to supper. "I have been--riding about the neighborhood." "What a mania you have for travelling about the country! Are you going to lead the same kind of life here as at Lyon?" "Possibly." "That will be amusing for us! At Lyon, we could at least vary our amusements a little, see people----" "Yes, the Marquise de Versac, and others, eh?"