The two girls walked slowly along the path arm in arm. They passed from sunshine to shade, and from shadow to sunshine again. Amid the shelter of the old straight-limbed trees they felt the peace all about them. Alice of the golden locks was dressed in pink. Paule’s dark hair and mourning dress brought out the paleness of her skin. The fine weather made them both happy, and almost unconsciously they renewed their friendship of the convent days and from time to time they stopped to smile at each other. Meanwhile neither noticed the other’s excitement. Each had a great secret. Alice, who thought herself very brave since the scene of the morning, was burning to be worthy of her friend’s confidence. Paule, stirred to the depths of her nature, was thinking about the brother whose affection she was about to reveal. “Paule,” said Alice, “do you remember our talks at the Sacred Heart?” “I seldom think about them now,” replied Paule. “One day we were talking about marriage. Raymonde Ortaire, in the class above us, was always discussing the subject. She said, ‘I shall never marry anybody but a rich aristocrat.’ Then we all told in turn what our ideal was. I could only whisper, ‘I don’t know!’ And you, Paule, I see you now with your dark eyes--your lovely dark eyes which shine most at night or in trouble. You said, as if you despised all our ideas, ‘To marry is to love and nothing else.’ Raymonde laughed, but we felt like slapping her!” “You too?” said Paule, with affectionate irony. “Certainly, I too. Does that surprise you? If you had heard me this morning you would not be at all astonished.” A little flush in Alice’s pure cheeks gave her animation which heightened her charm, and her walk seemed less languid and weary than usual. Paule, who loved the sweetness of her features though she thought them weak, was surprised at this new spirit and immediately felt that it was a good omen for her mission. “This morning?” she repeated questioningly. “This very morning,” said Alice solemnly, “I refused to marry.” She said no more, so that she might enjoy the effect of this. It is always pleasant for a girl to give someone to understand that she has refused suitors. A more delicate thought made her add: “You promise to keep the secret? I shall not even tell you his name.” Paule, who had guessed it already, smiled rather uneasily. Quivering with excitement, she waited for explanations. Already she trembled for him who had sent her on his errand. “Would it be indiscreet if I asked why you refused?” Alice stopped. A golden ray, which shot through the leaves, fell directly on her fair hair. Her supple form bent forward a little and she cried, radiant as a spring flower. “To marry means to love and nothing else!” “You don’t love anyone then?” “No.” “Nobody?” persisted Paule. “Nobody.” But the girl blushed. Was it at her own words, whose boldness shocked her natural reserve, or from a sudden fear that she had distorted the truth?