The next day Flore looked at her master with a certain expression. This mute almost instinctive love had touched her; she no longer thought the poor ninny so ugly, though his forehead was crowned with pimples resembling ulcers, the signs of a vitiated blood. “You don’t want to go back and live in the fields, do you?” said Jean-Jacques when they were alone. “Why do you ask me that?” she said, looking at him. “To know--” replied Rouget, turning the color of a boiled lobster. “Do you wish to send me back?” she asked. “No, mademoiselle.” “Well, what is it you want to know? You have some reason--” “Yes, I want to know--” “What?” said Flore. “You won’t tell me?” exclaimed Rouget. “Yes I will, on my honor--” “Ah! that’s it,” returned Rouget, with a frightened air. “Are you an honest girl?” “I’ll take my oath--” “Are you, truly?” “Don’t you hear me tell you so?” “Come; are you the same as you were when your uncle brought you here barefooted?” “A fine question, faith!” cried Flore, blushing. The heir lowered his head and did not raise it again. Flore, amazed at such an encouraging sign from a man who had been overcome by a fear of that nature, left the room. Three days later, at the same hour (for both seemed to regard the dessert as a field of battle), Flore spoke first, and said to her master,-- “Have you anything against me?” “No, mademoiselle,” he answered, “No--” (a pause) “On the contrary.” “You seemed annoyed the other day to hear I was an honest girl.” “No, I only wished to know--” (a pause) “But you would not tell me--” “On my word!” she said, “I will tell you the whole truth.” “The whole truth about--my father?” he asked in a strangled voice. “Your father,” she said, looking full into her master’s eye, “was a worthy man--he liked a joke--What of that?--there was nothing in it. But, poor dear man, it wasn’t the will that was wanting. The truth is, he had some spite against you, I don’t know what, and he meant--oh! he meant you harm. Sometimes he made me laugh; but there! what of that?” “Well, Flore,” said the heir, taking her hand, “as my father was nothing to you--” “What did you suppose he was to me?” she cried, as if offended by some unworthy suspicion. “Well, but just listen--” “He was my benefactor, that was all. Ah! he would have liked to make me his wife, but--” “But,” said Rouget, taking the hand which Flore had snatched away from him, “if he was nothing to you you can stay here with me, can’t you?” “If you wish it,” she said, dropping her eyes. “No, no! if you wish it, you!” exclaimed Rouget. “Yes, you shall be--mistress here. All that is here shall be yours; you shall take care of my property, it is almost yours now--for I love you; I have always loved you since the day you came and stood there--there!--with bare feet.” Flore made no answer. When the silence became embarrassing, Jean-Jacques had recourse to a terrible argument.