“And she left Paris. I was in such a state of depression, that I scarcely felt the pain of parting. The thought of being loved by such a woman filled me with extreme pride, and, no doubt, saved me from many an excess. Ambition was rising within me whenever I thought of her. I wanted to work, to distinguish myself, to become eminent in some way. “‘I want her to be proud of me,’ I said to myself, ashamed at being nothing at my age but the son of a rich father.” Ten times, at least, M. Magloire had risen from his chair, and moved his lips, as if about to make some objection. But he had pledged himself, in his own mind, not to interrupt Jacques, and he did his best to keep his pledge. “In the meantime,” Jacques went on, “the day fixed by the countess was drawing near. I went down to Boiscoran; and on the appointed day, at the precise hour, I was in the forest at the Red Men’s Cross-roads. I was somewhat behind time, and I was extremely sorry for it: but I did not know the forest very well, and the place chosen by the countess for the rendezvous is in the very thickest part of the old wood. The weather was unusually severe for the season. The night before, a heavy snow had fallen: the paths were all white; and a sharp wind blew the flakes from the heavily-loaded branches. From afar off, I distinguished the countess, as she was walking, up and down in a kind of feverish excitement, confining herself to a narrow space, where the ground was dry, and where she was sheltered from the wind by enormous masses of stone. She wore a dress of dark-red silk, very long, a cloak trimmed with fur, and a velvet hat to match her dress. In three minutes I was by her side. But she did not draw her hand from her muff to offer it to me; and, without giving me time to apologize for the delay, she said in a dry tone,-- “‘When did you reach Boiscoran?’ “‘Last night.’ “‘How childish you are!’ she exclaimed, stamping her foot. ‘Last night! And on what pretext?’ “‘I need no pretext to visit my uncle.’ “‘And was he not surprised to see you drop from the clouds at this time of the year?’ “‘Why, yes, a little,’ I answered foolishly, incapable as I was of concealing the truth. “Her dissatisfaction increased visibly. “‘And how did you get here?’ she commenced again. ‘Did you know this cross-road?’ “‘No, I inquired about it.’ “‘From whom?’ “‘From one of my uncle’s servants; but his information was so imperfect, that I lost my way.’ “She looked at me with such a bitter, ironical smile, that I stopped. “‘And all that, you think, is very simple,’ she broke in. ‘Do you really imagine people will think it very natural that you should thus fall like a bombshell upon Boiscoran, and immediately set out for the Red Men’s Cross-roads in the forest? Who knows but you have been followed? Who knows but behind one of these trees there may be eyes even now watching us?’ “And as she looked around with all the signs of genuine fear, I answered,--