It was three days after I had received Ballangier's confidence, and in the morning when I was still alone, that Pomponne announced Madame Dauberny.

I could not believe my ears; but at the same instant FrÉdÉrique hurried into the room, with the amiable, fascinating expression, the proud yet sweet glance, that always attracted and vanquished me; and, before I had recovered from my surprise, she ran to me, took my hand, then threw her arms about me and kissed me two or three times.

I began by letting her do as she chose, because I found it very pleasant; but I gazed into her face, my eyes questioned her. She met them fearlessly and said:

"Yes, Charles, I was wrong! Reproach me all you choose, overwhelm me with the harshest words—I deserve it, yes, I deserve it! you could not say too much. But here I am! I have come back to you, to ask your forgiveness, to swear to you that hereafter I will have no more caprices, that I will believe all that you say—all, do you hear? That I will approve of everything you do, that my friendship will no longer be selfish or exacting, and that it will be unchangeable! Indeed, do you suppose that it really ceased even for a moment? Oh! no, you never thought so, did you, Charles? You hadn't such a bad opinion of me, had you?"

I was bewildered by what I heard. I would have liked to ask her why she had been angry, and why she was so no longer, but she put her hand over my mouth, crying:

"No reproaches, my friend, since I agree that I was wrong and beg your pardon! Are you not willing now to throw a veil over the past?"

"Oh, yes! I am, indeed! Besides, you have come back, and I am so happy to find you once more as you used to be, that I don't care to seek for the explanation of my good fortune. But we, or rather you, are no longer angry, are you, FrÉdÉrique?"

"I have sworn it, my friend. Tell me, what are you going to do to-day? Would you like to pass the day with me?"

"Would I like it! You anticipate my dearest wish."

"The weather is magnificent; what do you say to a ride? We can go and hire some horses at the riding school, where I usually hire; they have some very good ones."

"A ride? delightful!"

"Then get ready quickly, monsieur. I will wait for you in your salon."

She left the room. I hastily finished dressing, and joined her in the salon.

"Your young seamstress doesn't seem to be here to-day," said FrÉdÉrique, with a smile.

"No, she came yesterday. She doesn't come regularly, every day, but just when she pleases."

"My friend, I was most unjust to that young woman. Such things as I said to her! Really, I don't know what had got into my head that day!"

"As you're sorry for it, you mustn't think any more about it."

"Oh! I shall try to make my peace with her, all the same. Let us go and have our ride, my friend."

We were soon in the saddle, and started off at a gallop. FrÉdÉrique rode with all the grace, assurance, and fearlessness of a circus rider. We went in the direction of the forest of Meudon, and Fleury. In that region one is more alone than in the Bois de Boulogne; the country is more rural, the landscape more diversified, and you can draw rein from time to time and indulge in pleasant converse.

We passed a delightful day. At night we dined together at a restaurant, like two bachelors—that is to say, we dined in the main dining-room. And when we parted, FrÉdÉrique said:

"Not for long!"

The next day, when I returned home after doing several errands, I found Mignonne in her usual place.

She bade me good-morning as usual, but her glance seemed less frank than it usually was. We all have days when we are inclined to melancholy; perhaps she had just come from her child's grave.

I chatted with Mignonne as usual. I fancied that I could see that she was waiting for Pomponne to leave us alone. But when I had company, that servant of mine always found some excuse for constantly going in and out and appearing every minute or two in the room where we were. I have known him to leave a pin on the mantel, as a pretext for returning, and, when he came for it, to leave another in its place. I had to call to him sternly: "When will you have done with that nonsense?"—He realized that I was losing patience, and he came no more to fetch his pins.

At last, Mignonne decided to speak.

"Has that lady who was here the other day been to see you again, monsieur?" she asked hesitatingly.

"Yes, Mignonne, she has. We had had a little dispute, but we are reconciled now. She has a hot head, but an excellent heart."

"Did she tell you that it was wrong of you to let me work here?"

"On the contrary, she said several times that she was very sorry that she had said things to you that might have hurt you, and that she hoped to make her peace with you."

"Oh! mon Dieu! that isn't worth while, monsieur."

Mignonne said that in a peculiar tone; then she returned to her work and did not utter another word. Soon the door opened and FrÉdÉrique appeared, as affable, smiling, and fascinating as on the day before. She shook hands with me and nodded pleasantly to Mignonne, who returned her salutation much less graciously.

I was sitting at the piano, jotting down an air that had come into my head. FrÉdÉrique insisted that she would not disturb me; and while I was trying to pick out an accompaniment for my air, I saw that she went to Mignonne and tried to talk with her.

I played a little for FrÉdÉrique, who sang very well when she chose to take the trouble. Mignonne, perhaps because she was not fond of music, seemed to take little pleasure in listening to us.

FrÉdÉrique passed a large part of the day with me, and Mignonne went away earlier than usual.

A fortnight passed. FrÉdÉrique continued to come frequently to see me. Her mood with me never changed, her glance was always sweet; the most perfect harmony reigned between us.

As for Mignonne, I was disturbed to see that her features had resumed their expression of gloomy melancholy, that the roses which had reappeared for a time on her cheeks had again given place to pallor. And I was distressed by that change, of which I could not guess the cause.

Ballangier came twice. I urged him to remain, and gave him a seat near the pretty seamstress. Then I easily made an excuse for leaving them together, in the hope that they would become better acquainted. But both times Ballangier said to me, when he went away:

"It will be a long job; she's still just as sad as ever, and she doesn't look at me at all; in fact, I'm not sure that she listens when I am talking to her. But, never mind, I'll be patient, and I'll have love enough for two, if necessary."

One evening, when FrÉdÉrique had come during the day, and, not finding me, had passed several hours with Mignonne, I was much surprised to receive a note from her containing these words only:

"I have something to say to you, my friend, something important. I shall expect you."

What could she have to say to me, of such urgency? However, I knew FrÉdÉrique well enough to know that when she had anything to say, it was perfect torture to her to have to wait till the next day; so I went to her at once.

My friend was in a very dainty nÉgligÉ, which reminded me of the night I had supped with her. She smiled sweetly, as I entered the room, and gave me her hand, saying:

"I was sure that you would come at once. You realized that I don't like to wait! Come, sit here by my side, and we will talk like two good friends."

I did as she bade me. She began by putting her hand on mine.

"My friend," she said, "it is rather embarrassing for me to tell you what I have to tell. I trust that you will not take my words in ill part, that you will not be angry, as I was. But, above all things, be persuaded that I am perfectly sure that I am not mistaken."

"What a preamble! I thought that you and I could afford to go straight to the point; I have never liked the circumlocutions with which advocates confuse their arguments instead of stating them simply."

"You are right; I will come to the point. To-day, my friend, I went to your rooms; you were absent, but that young woman, Mignonne, was there, working hard as usual."

"Ah! so Mignonne is your subject, eh?"

"Yes, Mignonne. I sat down beside her, although my presence was by no means agreeable to her. It did not require much discernment to see that. Haven't you noticed it, too, Charles? Haven't you noticed that when I appear her face changes and her eyes become sad? that she hardly replies to what I say to her?"

"Yes, I have noticed all that. But I have seen nothing more in it than a bit of spite because of what you said to her one day."

"Oh! there's something besides her remembrance of that. To-day, I determined to have it out with her. I succeeded, by several adroit questions, in making her betray the secret of her heart, which, by the way, had been no secret to me for a long time."

"Well! what is this secret?"

"You won't be angry, Charles? At all events, you are not in the least to blame for it. So I begin by telling you that I am not offended with you for it."

"Oh! how cruel you are with your reflections, FrÉdÉrique!"

"Well! Mignonne loves you dearly. That is the secret that makes her melancholy and embarrassed—especially when I am there; because she has imagined, foolishly of course, but still she has imagined that you love me, that I am—your mistress! If she had heard Mademoiselle Rosette repeat your remark—that you would never love me—she wouldn't entertain that absurd idea."

"Ah! FrÉdÉrique, you know very well that——"

"Don't interrupt me, my friend; besides, we are not talking about that, but about Mignonne. When she sees me come in, when I am with you, her eyes fill with tears, and she looks at the floor so that we may not see them. Yes, my friend, you can believe my extensive experience, believe my heart, which is never mistaken—that young woman has a profound affection for you. That which was only gratitude at first has become love! She is accustomed to see you almost every day. Perhaps she does not herself realize the strength of the sentiment that draws her toward you; but she yields to the fascination she feels; and that love will acquire greater force in her heart, if you yourself do not try to uproot it."

Mignonne in love with me! It seemed improbable to me at first; but as I recalled a multitude of trivial circumstances, I became less incredulous.

"Why, I have never lisped a word of love to her; nothing in my conduct can have given her any reason to think that I was in love with her."

"I know that, my friend; oh! I am certain of that!" cried FrÉdÉrique, pressing my hand. "But probably that is just why she loves you! Women are made that way; it's a congenital defect in them. If you had spoken of love to Mignonne, it is very probable that she would have taken offence at it, and would have ceased to come to your rooms. But when she found that you always treated her like a sister, confidence returned—she reproached herself for her distrust; well, at all events, she loves you, that is certain! We all know that that sentiment is not governed by reason."

"Well, FrÉdÉrique, if you have guessed right, if that young woman does love me—which would distress me greatly, I confess—what do you advise me to do? Of course, you do not want me to cease to help the unfortunate creature, to abandon her?"

"Why, no; of course not!"

"If I tell her not to come to my rooms any more—she is very sensitive, like all unfortunate people, and she will go away forever."

"Are you willing to rely on me, my friend?"

"I ask nothing better."

"I will tell you what, it seems to me, would cure the whole trouble—but I am afraid you will not like my plan."

"Oh! how terrible you are to-day with your reticences!"

"Listen! While I was absent from Paris, you didn't know where I was, did you?"

"No; you didn't tell me."

"As you didn't ask me, I thought that you were not interested. Well, monsieur, I was at a charming country house that I had hired—and it is still mine, because I took it for a year, all furnished and equipped. I had nothing to do but to go there, and that was not much trouble; for the house is at Fontenay-sous-Bois, close to Vincennes—only two leagues and a half from Paris. I was not very far away, monsieur, as you see. So that I came often to Paris, and knew everything that happened here."

"And you propose to send Mignonne to your country house?"

"No, not that. In the first place, she would probably refuse to go to any house of mine. You must do the opposite of that—you must—that is, if it won't be too much of a bore to you—pass some time yourself in that retreat. It is only the last of July, and the weather is fine. But perhaps country life is tedious to you?"

"Not at all! But you will go with me, of course; you will keep me company?"

"Most assuredly! Must I not do the honors of my house?"

"Your plan is delightful, FrÉdÉrique, and I accept with the greatest pleasure!"

"Really! you are really willing to go into the country with me? The prospect doesn't alarm you—you're not afraid of being bored?"

"Is that possible, with you?"

"Oh! how good you are, and how happy I am! But, never fear, my friend; I will try to arrange it so that the time won't seem too long to you. In the first place, it is a lovely spot, the whole neighborhood is charming; you would think that you were a hundred leagues from the capital. However, it is no desert, for there are several pretty estates in the neighborhood; but I don't care much for visiting neighbors, myself, especially in the country; for when you have once allowed your neighbors to call, they are always at your door, and that gets to be horribly tiresome. But wait till you see my house—it's an immense place, like a little chÂteau. The garden is very large and well shaded; there's a lake in which I have the right to fish—only there are no fish in it. There's a billiard room, and all sorts of games. And then, when you are bored beyond endurance, or when you have any business in Paris, we are so near—you can be here in an hour."

"I am at your orders, FrÉdÉrique. Let us start! let us start as soon as possible! I look forward with delight to living in the country with you."

Madame Dauberny pressed my hand with all her strength and kissed me on the forehead.

"Listen! listen!—Oh! mon Dieu! here I am beginning to address you familiarly again, as I used to."

"Oh! I am very willing."

"No, no! I won't do it! Listen, my friend: you must tell Mignonne that you are going to pass some time in the country; that is a perfectly natural thing for you to do; ask her to continue to come to your rooms as usual, to superintend your household; you might even give her to understand that you rely on her friendship to look carefully after your interests. She will be flattered by that mark of confidence. You need not tell her how long you expect to be away—nor whom you are going to visit. You are not accountable to her, after all. But, my friend, you mustn't come to Paris too often to see her; for that would destroy the effect of your sojourn in the country."

"I understand that perfectly."

"Then we must hope that absence—common sense—— That young woman will realize sooner or later that she does wrong to love you with love."

"Surely she will! And then, if another man calls to see her, now and then——"

"Ah, yes! That's the very thing! Perhaps he will succeed in winning her love!"

I stared at FrÉdÉrique in amazement, for I had never mentioned Ballangier's passion for Mignonne to her. She blushed and began to arrange her hair; that was her usual resource when she did not want to be examined.

"Who do you think may succeed in winning Mignonne's love, pray?"

"Why, the man who is paying court to her—that young man who comes to see you sometimes."

"How do you know that, FrÉdÉrique?"

"Wonderful cleverness on my part! Did I not meet him one day when he was going to see you?"

"And you guessed that he was in love with Mignonne, simply from seeing him come to my rooms?"

"He has changed greatly, and to his advantage, that young man."

"Ah! you recognized him, did you?"

I watched FrÉdÉrique closely, for a multitude of ideas had suddenly rushed into my mind; something told me that Madame Dauberny knew more about Ballangier than she chose to tell me. I think that she must have divined my thoughts, for she rose hastily and said:

"It is getting late, my friend. We start to-morrow—is that settled?"

"I ask nothing better."

"Bring your servant; we have room enough for him. I have only a gardener and my maid there. Will Mignonne come to you to-morrow?"

"I think so, as she didn't come to-day."

"Wait for her and tell her that you are going to the country; then come to me, and we will start together."

"Very good. I will go home to make my preparations, and to-morrow I will call for you. O rus! quando te aspiciam?"

"I can guess what that means. You will see the fields to-morrow, my friend."

On reaching home, I gave orders to Pomponne to prepare for our departure. I might take very few things to Fontenay, and send him to Paris whenever I needed anything. But that was just what I wanted to avoid, because I was acquainted with Monsieur Pomponne's loquacity.

It was ten o'clock when Mignonne arrived. Since FrÉdÉrique had opened my eyes to the young woman's secret sentiments, I had dreaded that interview; I was deeply moved, and it grieved me to think of causing her pain. Poor child! from whom I was fleeing because she loved me! We run after so many women who do not love us!

Mignonne seemed to me even paler and more depressed than usual. However, she smiled when she saw me. I went to meet her and held out my hand.

"Mignonne, I was waiting to say good-bye to you."

She looked anxiously at me, did not take the hand I offered her, and faltered:

"What! to say good-bye? Are you going on a journey?"

"Oh, no! I am just going into the country—not very far away. I am not leaving you for long."

"Ah! you are going to the country? You have never said anything about it. Is it something you have just thought of?"

"I have been thinking of it for several days. I am in the habit of going into the country every year for a time; it does me good."

"If it's for your health, you are wise. I will go away, then, and come again when you return—when you send me word."

"No; on the contrary, if you wish to please me, to do me a favor, you will continue to come here. I am taking my servant with me, but I will leave you my keys, which you will hand to the concierge when you go away. I intrust the care of my establishment to you! There are many things to be done here. I would like to have my curtains renovated, and the furniture of my salon and bedroom covered. You will find money in the desk. Be good enough to attend to all these details. I take the liberty of looking upon you as if you were my sister; does that offend you?"

"Offend me! no, indeed! You are too kind to me! you always find pretexts for keeping me busy, for heaping kindnesses on me. Oh! I see it plainly enough!"

"Don't say that. On the contrary, it is due to you that my house has assumed an orderly, comfortable aspect that it never had before."

"Will it be long before you return to Paris?"

"I don't think so. But sometimes, when one has no business to attend to——"

"Of course, and when one is enjoying one's self. Are you going to visit—friends?"

"Yes, I am going to see several friends—to make a round of visits. By the way, Mignonne, I wanted to say—— That young man whom you have seen here several times—Ballangier—will probably come while I am away."

"I will tell the concierge not to let anyone come up, as you won't be here."

"That is all right, so far as most people are concerned; but I want Ballangier to be excepted from that prohibition. I take a very deep interest in that young man. He used to have none but evil acquaintances in Paris; he must not find a house closed to him where he can learn only profitable lessons. And then, too, my library is at his disposal; he may take whatever books he chooses. So you will please be kind enough to admit him. He's a fine fellow, and I am sure that he will do his utmost to deserve your esteem."

"Very good, monsieur," Mignonne replied, in a cold and constrained tone; "your orders shall be followed."

"But I am not giving you orders; I am simply expressing a wish, that's all!"

"And if any letters should come for you, monsieur, where shall I send them?"

"I don't expect any. At all events, my servant will call and get them from the concierge."

"Oh! you will send your servant to Paris, but you won't come yourself?"

She hastily lowered her eyes, but I saw that they were full of tears. I made haste to grasp her hand, which she did not withdraw, and pressed it affectionately.

"I shall see you soon, Mignonne," I said. "Keep a sharp eye on my house!"

And I hurried away, driving Monsieur Pomponne before me, for he seemed determined to return to the room where Mignonne was, probably to pick up a pin.