“Ah! my dear sir, did you think that a single word or look would suffice to seduce me? If so, I am more rebellious than you imagined. Did you suppose that the influence of spring, amid this charming scenery, an inactive solitude, and the length of the evenings, joined to your own particular qualities, would have induced me to fall down at your feet? You are going rather too fast. My melancholy mood cannot accommodate itself to such a rapid change! There, now, don’t look so down-hearted; I am speaking to you very gently. Had I wished I might have assumed an offended attitude, for, after all, you offer me your heart without taking the slightest precaution. Still, in this out-of-the-way place one cannot help feeling nearer the simplicity of nature. It is easy to return to habits and manners that are almost primitive, even without troubling concerning forms and customs, and saying what one really thinks and feels. I will forgive you, on condition you do not recommence.” Astonished at hearing the young woman speak in such a vivacious tone of raillery, Marcel wondered if she were really the same sorrowful languishing widow whose tender melodies were so often broken by sobs. Her face sparkled with a malicious harshness, and those caressing eyes of hers belied the coldness of her words. She offered so irritating a mixture of decency and profligacy, of modesty and sensuality, that Marcel no longer knew what to think. Suddenly the church-bell of Ars began to toll the evening Angelus, changing the trend of their thoughts. The young woman suddenly stood upright, exclaiming— “Six o’clock already! How time passes! They will wonder what has become of me.” “But you are quite alone!” “My servant—” “That extraordinary creature you call Milo.” “Do not speak ill of her; she likes you.” “Thanks for the favour!” “Oh! she is not fond of everybody. With you, however, she is like my dog, which licks your hand; he does not treat everybody the same way!” “Yes, I may charm the servant and the dog, but the mistress disdains me.” “Oh! the mistress. She is the one who orders, and the others obey.” “Then I will obey.” Giving him a charming smile, she summoned to her the little terrier, which was hid among the heather, and, walking slowly by Marcel’s side, returned in the direction of the villa. On approaching the gate they saw a man engaged in arranging on the road a pile of stones discharged from a tumbrel that very morning. A large sledge-hammer lay near his vest under a straw covering. Politely raising his cap to the two passers-by, and without appearing to bestow any further heed on them, he continued his task. Madame Vignola seemed vexed at this installation so near her home. She looked carefully at the man, and, as soon as the garden gate was closed, asked— “What does that person intend to do there?” “He seems to be engaged in breaking stones,” said Marcel. “Most likely a journeyman who will be working on the road for some time.”