“Yes, Felix, a decision unhesitatingly made, but not without sorrow, if it afflicts you.” His only reply was a loud laugh which made Fleurange shudder. She turned towards him, but there was no longer in his look the respect, or the sadness, or the emotion he had so recently shown. His face had resumed its habitual expression of irony and proud assurance. “I thank you for your frankness, cousin. That is a trait I trust you will retain. It somewhat detracts from the charm you are endowed with, but it will preserve you from some of the dangers to which your eloquent glances expose you. Adieu!” “Felix, give me your hand as a token you bear me no ill-will,” said Fleurange softly. “Ill-will?” replied Felix. “Oh! be assured I am too good a player not to bear bad luck cheerfully. Besides, one is not always, and in everything, unfortunate. Certain defeats, they say, are pledges of victory. Come, Gabrielle, forget it all. Give me your hand, and wish me _good luck_.” Before Fleurange could make any reply, he was gone. This conversation had been so rapid that the waltz was not yet ended. The noise, motion, and music, added to Fleurange’s agitation, made her dizzy. She went to an open window near the piano. At that moment the music ceased, and all resumed their places. Fleurange found herself nearly alone. Clement was still near, and, observing her, quickly laid down the violin he held in his hand. “You are very pale. Are you ill?” “No, no, let me go out. I only wish to take the air a moment.” Clement cast a rapid glance around the room, and then followed her into the garden: “You were dancing just now?” “Yes, and I did wrong.” “Your partner left you before the waltz was over?” “Yes.” Clement remained thoughtful a few moments, and then said: “Gabrielle, pardon me if I am indiscreet, but I wish I dared ask you one question.” “What a preamble! Did we not agree to speak freely to each other?” “Well, will you tell me why Felix went away?” “Yes, Clement, and I think you will be surprised. He asked me to marry him. What do you think of that?” “And you gave him his answer?” “Assuredly. I said no, without hesitating.” Clement started so abruptly that Fleurange looked at him with surprise. She saw an expression of joy on his countenance which he could not conceal. “I see you are no fonder than I of our cousin,” she said, “and are delighted with his ill-success.” “Delighted? No. Were he my worst enemy, I should pity him at such a moment; but I am very glad of--glad of--” Clement hesitated, contrary to his usual practice, which was to go straight to the point. “I am very glad of a decision,” said he at length, “which will dispense me from ever speaking of him again to you.” “What would you have done if I had accepted him?” “What I am glad not to be obliged to do.” “Now you are talking enigmatically in your turn.” “No; enigmas are intended to be guessed, and I beg you to forget what I have just said.”