“Please do, Monsieur,” acquiesced Madame Guibert, courteously. She was afraid she had been mistaken and was trembling for her hopes. “A thousand thanks, Madame. I must fly to see about it before it fades.” On the threshold the old man stopped and in a mysterious voice, which made the poor lady start, said: “I have a secret to tell you. I have managed to grow a new rose by skilful grafting. You shall see it. It has no name yet. I am going to give it your daughter’s. My nephew will be delighted. It shall be called Madame Paule Berlier!” And without having revealed his errand, otherwise than in this odd way, he vanished, still holding the flower in his hands and gazing at it. Madame Guibert as she watched him disappear in the distance could not repress a smile. “The poor man! He has forgotten all for his rose.” Jean on his way to meet M. Loigny had arrived at the oakwood which lines the road to Vimines hill. He heard the noise of grinding wheels held back by the brake and soon he saw the carriage through the branches. Impatiently he hurried on in spite of the hill. “Well, Uncle?” he cried. M. Loigny lifted his flower in the air with a triumphant gesture which reassured the young man. “Look here! A rose that I haven’t got in my collection!” “What’s that to me?” said Jean brusquely. “Will she have me or not?” The old man let fall the stalk that he held so carefully, put his hands to his head, and cried, “Good heavens, I must be mad, I am dangerously mad. I forgot all about your offer!” Jean looked at him pityingly. “So you forgot!” he said. “But I am going back,” said M. Loigny, sitting up straight. “No, I will go myself. Go back to your flowers, Uncle.” And he went on his way to Le Maupas. The old man followed him with his eye as far as the turn in the road. Then he wiped his face, made a sign to the coachman to continue, and for the first time went home to Rose Villa without any feeling of pleasure. Jean discovered Madame Guibert in the garden at Le Maupas. She smiled when she saw him, sweetly and shyly. And he felt his heart lighten. “Good afternoon, Jean. Your uncle has just been to see me. Did you know it?” “Yes, Madame, he came with a message that he forgot to give you. For him that is nothing.” “Oh, don’t be hard on him!” And with a timid grace she took the young man’s hand in hers. “Be easy in your mind. I am acquainted with the language of flowers!” They sat down by the stone table under the trees. Jean kissed her hand. They understood each other already. “So you know that I love her?” asked Jean with emotion. Then in a firmer voice he added: “How could I help loving her, Madame?” “She is worthy of it,” answered Paule’s mother, who was thinking of the new future. “I think I have always loved her. Only I did not know my mind. When one is too young, one cannot clearly distinguish the plan of one’s life. And I shall love her for ever.”