Sweet
to me as was the frequent confession of her looks, I sought a confession
in speech also.
One afternoon, as we stood on a little spur that rose from the declivity
below the chateau, and whence through a small opening between trees could
be seen the river, the smiling plain, and afar the high-perched chateau
of Clochonne, I asked her:
"Why is it that when I speak of what most occupies my heart you become
silent or sorrowful, or go suddenly from me?"
With assumed lightness she replied:
"Can a woman explain her capricious doings any more than a man can
understand them? It is well known that we do unaccountable things."
Not heeding this evasion, I went on:
"I sometimes fear that you imagine some other barrier between us than the
one of religion. Is it that some other gentleman--?"
"Oh, no, monsieur!" she answered, quickly and earnestly, before I had
time to finish the question.
"Is there, then, some vow or girlish resolution?"
She shook her head negatively in reply, but would not give me any more
satisfaction.
At last I said, abruptly, "Do you, then, wish me not to love you?"
She looked at me first as if she would answer yes, and then as if she
would answer no, and finally, after a sigh, she said:
"Can we cause things by wishing?"
Finally, as a last means of trying her, I said:
"Mademoiselle, I have been thinking that it might be better if I were to
go on alone to Guienne, and leave Blaise and my men to conduct you when
you are able to follow.
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