"That's just it! monsieur thought he was going to turn my head with his flattery! But I'm used to meeting young men from Paris; it's always the same old song; they think they can make themselves welcome just by telling me I'm pretty! Oh! you're a parcel of flatterers! but I don't listen to you, you see!" "I should like to hear anyone deny again that virtue has its home in the village!" said Auguste to himself. "It is clear enough to my mind that the country is the place where we find the pure morals of the ancient patriarch, the models of virtue celebrated by the poets, the--That devil of a Bertrand needn't have driven Bébelle so fast; he must have done it from pure mischief! And when I said that we were almost there I was lying. It's at least three-quarters of a league farther!" To complete the young man's discomfiture, the milkmaid turned aside from the high road into a path that led through the woods. Auguste stood for a moment hesitating at the entrance to the path. Should he follow his cabriolet? or should he follow the girl? The first course was the more sensible, and that was his reason no doubt for deciding in favor of the second. The time that Auguste had passed in indecision had allowed the milkmaid to get some distance ahead of him; she walked along the path, and, thinking that the young man had followed the highroad, she sang as she drove White Jean in front of her: "You love me, you say, Then prove it, I pray; But dandies like you, Would hoax us, I know." "Very pretty! although the rhyme isn't first-class," said Auguste, quickening his pace to overtake the girl. She turned, and seemed surprised to see the young man in the path behind her. "What! you coming this way?" said the milkmaid, in a somewhat uncertain voice. "To be sure; this path is lovely." "Ain't you going to overtake your carriage?" "I couldn't make up my mind to leave you." "Oh! you're wasting your time, monsieur, and I promise you you'd do better to go after your carriage." "But I much prefer to walk by your side, although you treat me so harshly; however, I have an idea that you're not so unkind as you choose to appear." "Well, you're mistaken; I ain't kind at all; ask all the young fellows in Montfermeil how I treat them when they try to fool. Oh! Denise Fourcy is well known hereabout, I tell you." "Denise Fourcy? Good, now I know your name." "Well, what then? How does that put you ahead any?" "It will help me to find out about you easily, and to find you again when I choose." "Pardi! I ain't lost, and anyone can easily find me." "Do you mean to say, Denise, that at your age, pretty as you are, you haven't a lover?" "Is that any of your business?" "Oh! very much!" "Here in the country we ain't in such a hurry as your city ladies." "Haven't women hearts in the country as well as elsewhere?" "Yes; but they don't take fire the way yours does; it seems to me to be a little heart of tinder."