ot been dictated by
the bitterness of rejected love, rather than a generous impulse of
affection, and he did not care to reveal Reine's repulse to one whom
he vaguely suspected of being a former lover. His simple, ardent nature
could not put up with opposition, and he thought only of hastening the
day when Reine would belong to him altogether. But, when he broached
this subject, he had the mortification to find that she was less
impatient than himself.

"There is no hurry," she replied, "our affairs are not in order, our
harvests are not housed, and it would be better to wait till the dull
season."

In his first moments of joy and effervescence, Claudet had evinced the
desire to announce immediately the betrothal throughout the village.
This Reine had opposed; she thought they should avoid awakening public
curiosity so long beforehand, and she extracted from Claudet a promise
to say nothing until the date of the marriage should be settled. He had
unwillingly consented, and thus, during the last month, the matter had
been dragging on indefinitely:

With Julien de Buxieres, this interminable delay, these incessant
comings and goings from the chateau to the farm, as well as the
mysterious conduct of the bridegroom-elect, became a subject of serious
irritation, amounting almost to obsession. He would have wished the
affair hurried up, and the sacrifice consummated without hindrance.
He believed that when once the newly-married pair had taken up their
quarters at La Thuiliere, the very certainty that Reine belonged in
future to another would suffice to effect a radical cure in him, and
chase away the deceptive phantoms by which he was pursued.

One evening, as Claudet was returning home, more out of humor and silent
than usual, Julien asked him, abruptly:

"Well! how are you getting along? When is the wedding?"

"Nothing is decided yet," replied Claudet, "we have time enough!"

"You think so?" exclaimed de Buxieres, sarcastically; "you have
considerable patience for a lover!"

The remark and the tone provoked Claudet.

"The delay is not of my making," returned he.

"Ah!" replied the other, quickly, "then it comes from Mademoiselle
Vincart?" And a sudden gleam came into his eyes, as if Claudet's
assertion had kindled a spark of hope in his breast. The latter noticed
the momentary brightness in his cousin's usually stormy countenance, and
hastened to reply:

"Nay, nay; we both think it better to postpone the wedd