that; I
would sooner lose my life--"

"Will you stop! what if some one should hear you? they might be
passing," said Reine, gazing anxiously about her. "If you knew how
frightened I was in coming! I told mamma that I was going to the mill
to see my uncle; but that horrid old Lambernier met me just as I entered
the woods. What shall I do if he tells that he saw me? This is not
the road to the mill. It is to be hoped that he has not followed me! I
should be in a pretty plight!"

"You can say that you came to gather berries or nuts, or to hear the
nightingale sing; Mother Gobillot will not think anything of it. Who is
this Lambernier?"

"You know--the carpenter. You saw him at our house the other day."

"Ah! ah!" said Marillac, with interest, "the one who was turned away
from the chateau?"

"Yes, and they did well to do it, too; he is a downright bad man."

"He is the one who told you something about Madame de Bergenheim. Tell
me the story. Your mother interrupted us yesterday just as you began
telling it to me.--What was it that he said?"

"Oh! falsehoods probably. One can not believe anything that he says."

"But what did he tell you?"

"What difference does it make to you what is said about the Baroness?"
replied the young girl, rather spitefully, as she saw that Marillac was
not occupied in thinking of her exclusively.

"Pure curiosity. He told you then that he would tell the Baron what he
knew, and that the latter would give him plenty of money to make him
keep silent?"

"It makes no difference what he told me. Ask him if you wish to know.
Why did you not stay at the chateau if you can think only of the
Baroness? Are you in love with her?"

"I am in love with you, my dear. [The devil take me if she is not
jealous now! How shall I make her talk?] I am of the same opinion as
you," he replied, in a loud voice, "that all this talk of Lambernier's
is pure calumny."

"There is no doubt about it. He is well known about the place; he has a
wicked tongue and watches everything that one does or says in order to
report it at cross-purposes. Mon Dieu! suppose he should make some story
out of his seeing me enter these woods!"

"Madame de Bergenheim," continued the artist, with affectation, "is
certainly far above the gossip of a scoundrel of this kind."

Reine pursed up her lips, but made no reply.

"She has too many good qualities and virtues for people to believe
anything he says."

"Oh, as to that, there