"Great heaven! doesn't he see that I love him? I do all that I can to show him! Is it that he doesn't choose to understand me? In that case I must just tell him how it is; and now that he has nothing at all and I have a little money, perhaps he'll not despise the little village girl." Although he continued to tell himself that he must go away from Denise, Auguste did not leave the cottage, where he was so comfortable. But one evening when he was alone with her, he inquired: "How does it happen, Denise, that you are not married?" "Because I didn't choose to marry, monsieur!" she replied, raising her lovely eyes to his. "But you were in love with someone, surely? You told me so. What obstacle has prevented you from marrying the object of your choice?" Denise blushed and no longer dared to look at Auguste. At last she faltered in a tremulous voice: "I--I lied that time, monsieur." "How so, Denise?" "You know, that time in my aunt's garden, when I told you that I had a sweetheart, it was because Monsieur Bertrand had told me that you didn't come to the village for fear of falling in love with me; and I longed so to see you that that was why I said I didn't love you." "Dear Denise! is it possible?" cried Auguste, throwing his arms about her. "Yes, that's the truth; and since then I've been awfully unhappy because I told you that; for you didn't come again, and you thought I loved somebody else." Auguste gazed lovingly at the girl; but soon his brow grew dark; he fixed his eyes on the ground and seemed to be meditating deeply. Amazed by his silence and his depression, she drew nearer to him and said timidly: "Are you angry because I love you?" "Ah! Denise, it might once have made me perfectly happy--but now----" "Well--now?" Auguste made no reply; and after a moment she asked him: "Will you marry me, monsieur?" "Marry you, Denise?" "Yes; formerly I wouldn't have dared to hope for such a thing, for you were very rich, and you couldn't have taken a village girl for your wife. But you have lost the fortune which kept you in fashionable society. You say every day that you no longer care for the fine ladies, the coquettes, who deceived you.--Now, if you want me, I am yours. I haven't a great fortune, but I have enough for us two; and I will never deceive you!" Auguste was deeply moved by Denise's affecting offer; but he contented himself with pressing her hand and heaving a profound sigh. She impatiently awaited his reply; his silence made her think that her proposal had offended him; she walked away from him, and, unable to restrain her tears, faltered: "I made you angry by proposing that you should marry me. Forgive me, monsieur; I forgot that I am only a peasant. I thought that you loved me."