Gilberte was somewhat disposed to find fault with her father for such excessive benevolence to so dull and unattractive a subject; but she was too kind-hearted herself not to overcome her repugnance very quickly, and in a moment she had ceased to think of it, the more readily because on that day it was impossible for her to feel vexed at anything. Thanks to their frame of mind, our lovers found all the incidents of the remainder of their journey agreeable and amusing. Monsieur Antoine's old mare, hitched to a sort of open buggy, which he was justified in calling his wheelbarrow, performed prodigies of skill and courage in the shocking roads that they had to follow to reach their destination. The vehicle had room for three persons, and Sylvain Charasson, seated in the middle, drove the peaceful Lanterne _superlatively_--to use his own expression. The horrible jolting of a carriage so poorly hung in no wise disturbed Gilberte and her father, who were accustomed to occasional discomfort and never allowed their plans to be disarranged by the weather or the state of the roads. Emile rode in front on horseback, to give warning and to help them to alight when the road became too dangerous. Then, when they came out on the soft sandy soil of the moors, he dropped behind, to chat with the others, and above all to look at Gilberte. Never was dandy in the Bois de Boulogne, darting his eyes into his triumphant mistress's superb calèche, so happy and so proud as Emile, as he followed the lovely country girl whom he adored, along the ill-defined roads of that desert, by the light of the first stars. What did it matter to him whether she was seated on a sort of litter drawn by a sorry nag, or in a fine carriage? whether she was dressed in silk and velvet, or in a faded calico? She wore torn gloves which showed the tips of her pink fingers resting on the back of the wagon. To save her Sunday scarf she had folded it and placed it on her knee. Her graceful figure, slender and willowy, was even more graceful without it. The soft evening breeze seemed to caress with zest her alabaster neck. Emile's breath mingled with the breezes and he was bound like the slave to the chariot of the conqueror. There was one time when the vehicle, owing to Sylvain's lack of caution, stopped short, and nearly came in collision with Emile's horse's head.