But Paule refused, saying she was in bad humor. Marcel looked at her sadly, and Jean regarded her with sympathetic curiosity. He remembered having played long ago in this same courtyard with a child of overflowing spirits, brighter and jollier than any boy. He now found in her place a young woman, reserved and proud, even in the company of playfellows. And yet he could not refrain from admiring her tall, graceful figure, slight but strong, and her dark eyes from which the light seemed to flash. He would like to have met on the old terms of friendship with his little Paule. In the presence of this cold and beautiful Paule he felt an awkwardness and a vague anxiety that he dared not analyse. “Jean,” said Madame Guibert suddenly, “I want to scold you.” “No, please, don’t scold me,” said the young man, putting on the grimace of a naughty child. He was proverbially good-tempered, and the sight of him was enough to brighten the faces of all who knew him. “We are your oldest friends, and yet Mademoiselle Dulaurens was the first to tell us about the most important event in your life!” “What most important event?” said Jean, in pretended astonishment. Paule got up and walked towards the house as if she had some very important duty there. “Your marriage,” said Madame Guibert. “My marriage! To whom, in heaven’s name?” “To Mademoiselle Isabelle Orlandi.” Madame Guibert, who always meant what she said, had believed the tale of Madame Dulaurens. But Jean Berlier began to laugh. “Oh, she was talking of my little flirtation! But I’m sure you don’t know the meaning of the English word flirtation.” Paule went slowly up the steps. She had laid her hand upon her breast as if she were breathing with difficulty and then she quickened her step. Passing before the drawing-room mirror she stopped, surprised at her own beauty. The friendly daylight showed her a more charming face than she had expected to see. She smiled sadly at her image and her smile meant to say, “What is the good of being beautiful if you have no dowry? What is the good of having all this tenderness and devotion burning in an empty heart like a lamp in a deserted sanctuary.” At the same time she felt an involuntary consolation at the sight of her unavailing charm. Jean’s face wore the serious air of a scientist explaining a problem. “Flirtation means the love one makes to girls one doesn’t marry,” said he. “In French we call that _conter fleurette_,” said Madame Guibert. “You are wrong, Jean. I am an old woman, so listen to me. The game is never an equal one. Girls always expect to find a husband. You deceive their lawful hopes, and you amuse yourself with them at the cost of their peace of mind and their better feelings.” The young man listened to this little sermon with a respectful smile. “I love to hear you talk like that,” he said. “But I see that the modern girl is a stranger to you.” “To me too,” said Marcel. “Do you often go to La Chênaie?”