“If I tell it, I consent to love Monsieur Landeau.” “Will you be serious?” “I am speaking very seriously. My fiancé is the most serious thing in the world. Well, listen, if I tell your secret it means that I no longer like you.” “Ah, no, because that might happen any minute!” “You ungrateful wretch!” said Isabelle. She pointed to him, as though showing him to an imaginary gallery: “He is as handsome as Apollo and does not know it.” She raised her hand. “I swear it. There, are you satisfied? Do speak!” He still hesitated, then made up his mind. “My friend, Marcel Guibert, has something to tell Alice Dulaurens. He is going to wait for her to-morrow in the oakwood.” “Ah,” said Isabelle, deeply interested. “But they don’t want _us_ for that.” “Wait a minute. Alice knows nothing about it. If she knew, she wouldn’t go.” “Stupid creature! But you are quite right. Nothing about her astonishes me any more. She is capable of anything foolish.” “Say rather, of anything timid. She has a beautiful timid soul.” “I should rather say she is careful. But she is rich. She can choose her own husband. In these days that is a rare luxury. How could she help liking Captain Guibert better than that stupid, arrogant de Marthenay? I like him very much, almost as much as I like you. Only he makes me afraid. I always think he is going to scold me.” “Don’t you deserve it?” “I do deserve it. Scold me if you like, but not too much! The dragoon is very stupid. And when a man is that, he is unbearable.” Madame Dulaurens was hovering round now and came up to their little retreat, thinking that this _tête-à-tête_ had lasted quite long enough. “Alice is not with you?” she asked. “She has just gone out of the drawing-room, Madame Dulaurens. There she is, coming back.” When she had left them Jean said quickly, to put an end to the conversation. “Madame Dulaurens does not want to be separated from her daughter. You understand?” “Ah,” said Isabelle. “So poor Alice is to marry Monsieur de Marthenay. She has no more will-power than a hen in a shower of rain.” And with a sudden quaint outburst she added: “Long live forbidden loves! What will you give me as a reward for my help?” “Ask and you shall receive!” She looked slyly at him as if to provoke him. “A kiss from your lips, dear Sir.” His innocence was routed. He retorted at once: “On yours, fair lady.” It was her turn to blush. They both laughed, with that slight embarrassment which accompanies the thought of coming pleasure, and leaving their hiding-place they mixed with the general company. CHAPTER IX THE FAREWELL The next day everything passed off as arranged. Isabelle Orlandi and Jean Berlier took Alice Dulaurens to the park, as far as the oakwood where Marcel had been instructed to wait for her. At the bend of the path they left them face to face, while they continued their walk under the trees, glorious in their autumn dress.