She was dressed in the clothes she had worn on Maundy Thursday, the same dark dress, but her hat was very simple, very youthful, and suited her to perfection: a straw, with a wide brim turned up on one side, and trimmed with a twist of tulle. She carried a summer jacket on her arm, and a sunshade. Odile walked quickly, with her head slightly bent, as those walk who are not interested in the road, or who are either praying or dreaming. When she came near Jean, who was on the right of the portico, she looked up, and said without stopping: "The woman who came with me is resting. Here I am!" "It is good of you to have trusted me!" said Jean. "Come, Odile!" He followed, close to her, the avenue planted with sorry trees distorted by the winter winds. He was so much affected by the realisation of his dream that he could only think and speak of one thing: his gratitude to Odile, who was absolutely silent, only listening to what he did not say--and as full of emotion as he was. They left the road at the place where it begins to slope downwards, and took a path through the forest of lofty pines in serried ranks which leads round the convent. There was no one there, and Jean saw that Odile's eyes of the colour of ripe corn, eyes deep and serious, were turned towards him. There was no sound in the wood save that from the drops of moisture falling from the leaves. They were quite close to each other. "I asked you to come," said Jean, "so that you should decide what my life is to be. You were the love of my early youth. I want you to be my love always!" Odile's look was far away, lost in the distance. She trembled slightly, and said: "Have you thought?" "Of everything!" "Even of that which may separate us?" "What do you mean by that? What are you afraid of? Of entering a disunited family?" "No!" "You would bring them together, I am sure of it. You would be its joy and peace. What do you fear--my father's or your father's opposition because they are now enemies?" "That could be got over," said the young girl. "Then it is because your mother detests me," said Jean hastily. "She does hate me, does she not? The other day she was so stiff to me, so offensive." The fair head made a sign of denial. "She will be slower in believing in you than my father was, slower than I was myself. But when she sees that your education has not changed your mind towards Alsace she will overcome her prejudices." After a moment's silence Odile said: "I do not think I am making any mistake. To-day's difficulties can be brushed on one side by you or by me, or by both of us. I am only afraid of what I do not know, the least thing which to-morrow might aggravate such a disturbed state----" "I understand," said Jean, "you are afraid of my father's ambition?" "Perhaps!"