Denise made no reply; she kept her eyes on her plate, and tried to conceal her confusion by caressing Coco's faithful companion. Auguste rose abruptly from the table, and, without a word to the others, left the room in evident ill humor, and went out to walk in the garden. He did not choose to admit to himself the nature of his feelings; but what Mère Fourcy said had caused him a pang. Even while he told himself again and again that he cared nothing for Denise, he felt in his heart that the young peasant's face aroused in him a sweeter emotion than those of all the coquettes in Paris. He walked about at random through the winding paths, and did his utmost to recover his merry humor. "I can't understand myself," he thought; "losing my temper because that girl loves someone, and that someone is not I! I! Why on earth should she love me, whom she has seen but three times, and of whom she knows nothing? I must have a deal of self-love to dream that she could care for me. But no, I feel that it is not vanity that makes me wish that she should.--Well, I must return to Paris and forget this little milkmaid. That will be easy enough; for what is there so extraordinary about her? There are a thousand women in Paris prettier, more alluring, more----" Auguste stopped short, for, happening to turn his head, he saw Denise within a few yards. He fixed his eyes on the girl, who seemed afraid to go forward and stood beside a tree. Her confusion, her flushed face, the furtive glances that she cast at the young man, gave to her whole person a grace and charm which art could not imitate; and Auguste said under his breath: "No, there's not a woman in Paris to be compared with her." Surprised to see their guest leave the table so abruptly, Denise had followed him at a distance. She remembered what Bertrand had told her, and as she desired nothing so much as that Auguste should come often to the village, she determined carefully to conceal her secret sentiments. Auguste walked toward her; for some time they stood face to face, without speaking; at last the young man said, trying to assume an indifferent manner: "So you love someone, Denise?" "Yes, monsieur," the girl replied, blushing and keeping her eyes on the ground. "If I remember rightly, when I first met you, in the little path in the woods, you told me that you had no lover." "That was true, monsieur." "Then you have given your heart away since that time?" Denise sighed and held her peace. "I have no right to question you," continued Auguste sharply; "but it is the interest you arouse in me, the--Do you know, Denise, I was sadly mistaken, for I thought that you loved me a little."