Monsieur de Boisguilbault, for the first time in his life, exerted himself with a sort of coquetry to do the honors of his chalet to such a charming guest. He took an artless pleasure in watching her examine and admire his flowers, and promised her that on the very next day she should have all the grafts and all the seeds to replenish the _vicarage garden_. Resuming momentarily the animation of youth, he ran hither and thither to find the little curiosities he had brought back from his trip to Switzerland, and offered them to her with ingenuous joy; and when she blushingly refused to accept anything, he took the little basket in which she had taken syrups and sweetmeats to her sick protégés and filled it with pretty bits of wood-work carved at Fribourg, specimens of rock-crystal, agates and cornelians set in seals and rings; and lastly with all the flowers in the vases, of which he made an enormous bouquet as deftly as he could. The touching grace with which Gilberte in her confusion thanked the old man, her artless questions concerning his travels in Switzerland, of which Monsieur de Boisguilbault retained most enthusiastic recollections, expressed in terms that were far from classic, the interest with which she listened to him, her intelligent comments when she succeeded in recovering her self-possession, the fascinating tones of her voice, the distinction of her simple, natural manners, her absence of coquetry, and the mixture of alarm and enthusiasm in her bearing and her features, which made her beauty even more impressive than usual, her glowing cheeks, her eyes moist with emotion and fatigue, her bosom oppressed by unfamiliar agitation, and her angelic smile which seemed to implore mercy or protection--all combined to produce such a profound impression on the marquis and took possession of him so rapidly, that he suddenly felt that he loved her with all his heart; with a holy love, be it understood, not the base desire of an old man for youth and beauty, but the love of a father for the pure and adorable child. And when the carpenter joined them, himself dazzled and overjoyed to find himself in such a light, warm room, he thought that he was dreaming when he heard Monsieur de Boisguilbault say to Gilberte: "Put your feet to the fire, my dear child; I am terribly afraid you have caught cold to-night, and if you have I shall never forgive myself so long as I live!" Thereupon, the marquis, impelled by an extraordinary outburst of expansiveness, turned to the carpenter and held out his hand, saying: "Come and sit down by the fire with us. Poor Jean! you were thinly clad and you are wet to the bone. I am the cause of that too; if you hadn't insisted on accompanying me, you would have gone to the farmhouse and you would be there now; you are hungry, too, and you would have had your supper. How am I to give you anything to eat here? and I am sure that you are dying of hunger!"