Part 47 (1/2)

”Madame de Bracieux,” she said, feeling sad, without knowing exactly why she should feel so. ”She is the grandmother of Mademoiselle de Courtaix.”

”How did you know that?” he asked, in surprise.

”Why, just as everyone else knows it in Pont-sur-Loire.”

”In the meantime,” he said, in an irritated tone, ”I shall miss the meet if I don't look out.”

”Don't stay,” said Lisette regretfully, ”enjoy yourself--and I shall see you this evening?”

”Yes--this evening.” Just as he was entering the wood, he turned round in his saddle, and called out: ”Above all, take care that they do not see you; don't go where the carriages are.”

And then, taking the path along which Bijou had gone, some little time before, he put his horse to a sharp gallop, in order to make up for lost time. Suddenly he stopped short, trying to distinguish something which he saw some distance ahead of him.

”Well!” he said to himself, ”if it isn't a horse without its rider!--some fine gentleman has got himself landed already.” As he drew nearer, he saw that the horse had a lady's saddle, and he uttered a cry as he perceived Bijou lying on her back on the gra.s.s to the right of the path. One of her arms was stretched out crosswise, and the other was down at her side, her eyes were closed, and her lips parted.

Bernes sprang to the ground, fastened his horse up, and then taking Denyse in his arms, tried to prop her up against a tree. When, however, the girl's head fell languidly on his shoulder, he drew her to him, and, bending over her, kissed her soft curly hair over and over again.

”Bijou, dear Bijou!” he murmured, in spite of himself; ”listen to me, will you? answer me--speak to me--I am so wretched seeing you like this.”

At the end of two or three minutes Denyse gave a very gentle sigh, and opened her eyes slowly.

At the sight of Bernes her grave face lighted up with a smile.

”Ah!” she murmured, ”wasn't it stupid, that fall?”

”How did you manage it?” he asked.

”I don't know. I fancy my horse put his foot in a hole.”

”And you went up in the air?”

”That was it,” she answered, laughing.

”Are you hurt?”

”Not the least bit in the world!” And then she added pensively: ”It's very nice of you to trouble about me, and all the more so as you do not like me, I know.”

Hubert de Bernes turned as red as a tomato.

”Oh, mademoiselle, how can you think--”

”I do think so--”

”Well, but,” he began, in an anxious voice, ”tell me at least whatever makes you imagine such a thing?”

”Oh, everything and nothing; it would take too long to explain. Well, this morning, for instance, when I asked you to go with us to the theatre, you looked quite annoyed, and you refused; oh, yes--out and out. Well, why did you refuse?”

”But, mademoiselle, I--I a.s.sure you--”