At first the difference in their ages had kept their acquaintance upon a tranquil, careless footing; certain preconceived ideas unfavorable to Louise, whom Bénédict had not seen for twelve years, speedily vanished in the pure and appealing fascination of intimate intercourse with her. Their tastes, their education, their sympathetic ideas had rapidly brought them together, and Louise, by virtue of her age, her misfortunes and her qualities, had acquired complete ascendancy over her young friend’s mind. But the joys of this intimacy were of short duration. Bénédict, always quick to pass the goal, always eager to deify his admirations, and to poison his pleasures by carrying them to excess, imagined that he was in love with Louise, that she was the one woman after his own heart, and that he could not live where she was not. It was the error of a day. The coldness with which Louise received his timid declarations angered more than it grieved him. In his resentment he inwardly accused her of pride and lack of heart. Then he recalled her misfortunes and admitted to himself that she was no less deserving of respect than of compassion. On two or three occasions he was conscious of a rekindling of the impetuous aspirations of a heart too passionate for friendship ; but Louise was able to soothe him. She did not employ to that end the reason which goes astray while splitting hairs; her experience taught her to distrust compassion ; she manifested none for him, and although her heart was by no means disposed to harshness, she resorted to it to effect the young man’s cure. The emotion which Bénédict had displayed during their interview that morning had been, as it were, his last attempt at rebellion. Now he repented of his folly, and, buried in his reflections, he felt, in his ever increasing disquietude, that the time had not come for him to love anybody or anything exclusively.

Madame Lhéry broke the silence with a trivial remark.

“You’ll stain your gloves with those flowers,” she said to her daughter. “Pray remember that madame said the other day before you : ‘ You can always recognize a woman of the common people in the provinces by her feet and hands.’ She didn’t think, the dear soul, that we might take that to ourselves.”

“On the contrary, I think she said it expressly for us. Poor mamma, you know Madame de Raimbault very little if you think that she would regret having insulted us.”

“Insulted us!” rejoined Madame Lhéry. “She meant to insult us ? I’d like to see her do it ! Yes, indeed I would ! Do you suppose I’d stand an insult from anybody, I don’t care who ?”

“Still, we shall have to put up with more than one impertinence so long as we are her farmers. Farmers, always farmers ! when we have an estate at least as good as madame la comtesse’s ! Papa, I won’t let you alone till you’ve got rid of this wretched farm. I don’t like it, I can’t endure it.”

Père Lhéry shook his head.

“Three thousand francs profit every year is always a good thing to have,” he replied.

“It would be better to earn three thousand francs less and recover our liberty, enjoy our wealth, free ourselves from the kind of tyranny that that harsh, arrogant woman exercises over us.”

“Psha !” said Madame Lhéry, “ we almost never have dealings with her. Since that unfortunate event she comes to the province every five or six years only. This time she came only on account of her demoiselle’s wedding. Who knows that this won’t be the last time ? It’s my belief that Mademoiselle Valentine will have the château and the farm for her dowry. Then what a kind mistress we should have !”

“To be sure, Valentine is a dear girl,” said Athénaïs, proud to be able to speak in that familiar tone of a person whose rank she envied. “Oh! she’s not proud; she hasn’t forgotten that we played together when we were little. And then she has the good sense to understand that money is the only distinguishing mark, and that our money’s as honorable as hers.”

“I should say so !” rejoined Madame Lhéry; “for she has only had the trouble of being born, while we have earned our money by hard work and at our peril. But still there’s nothing to say against her ; she’s a good young lady and a pretty girl, da! Did you ever see her, Bénédict ?”

“Never, aunt”

“And then I’m attached to that family,” continued Madame Lhéry. “The father was such a good man! There was a real man for you ! and handsome ! A general, on my word, all covered with gold and crosses, and he asked me to dance on fête-days just as if I was a duchess. Madame didn’t like that much—”

“Nor I, either,” observed Père Lhéry, ingenuously.

“That Père Lhéry,” retorted his wife, “ must always have his joke. But all the same, what I mean to say is that, except for madame, who’s a little high and mighty, it’s a fine family. Can anyone find a better woman than the grandmother ?”

“Ah !” said Athénaïs, “ she’s the best of all. She always has something pleasant to say to you ; she never calls you anything but my heart, or my beauty, or my pretty puss.”

“And that always pleases you !” said Bénédict, mockingly. “Well, well, add that to the three thousand francs profit, which will buy a good many gewgaws——”

“Eh ! that isn’t to be despised, is it, my boy ?” said Pfere Lhéry.