"Do you come to the Bois often?" asked the minister.

"No. Why?"

"Because I shall frequently return here," he said in a trembling voice.

"Really!--Then, oh! why then, it would be love-making?" said Marianne,
who pierced him with her warm, tender glances.

He wished to seize this woman's hand and print a kiss thereon, or to
press his lips upon her bare neck upon which the golden honey-colored
ringlets danced in the bright sunlight.

"On these clear, fine days," she said in an odd tone, emphasizing every
word, "it is very likely that I shall return frequently to visit this
pathway. Eh! what is that?" she said, turning around.

She was dragging a dry bramble that had fastened its thorns to the folds
of her satin skirt and she stopped to shake it off.

"Stop," said Sulpice.

He desired to tread on the russet-colored bramble.

"You will tear my gown," said Marianne. "The bramble clings too
tightly."

Then he stooped, gently removed the thorn, and Marianne, her bosom
turned toward him and half-stooping, looked at that man--a
minister--almost kneeling before her in this wood.

He cast the bramble away from him.

"There," he said.

"Thanks."

As he rose, he felt Marianne's fresh breath on his forehead. It fell on
his face, as sweet as new-mown hay. He became very pale and looked at
her with so penetrating an expression that she blushed slightly--from
pleasure, perhaps,--and until they reached the carriage where her
coachman was still sleeping, they said nothing further, fearing that
they had both said too much.

At the moment when she entered her carriage, Sulpice, suddenly, with an
effort at boldness, said to her, as he leaned over the door:

"I must see you again, Marianne."

"What is the use?" she said, keeping her eyes fixed on his.

"Where shall I see you?" he asked, without replying to her question.

"I do not know--at my house--"

"At your house?"

"Wait," she added abruptly, "I will write to you."

"You promise me?"

"On my word of honor. At the ministry, _Personal_, isn't that so?"

"Yes!--Ah! you are very good!" he cried, without knowing what he was
saying, while Marianne's coachman whipped his horses and the carriage
disappeared in the direction of Paris.

It seemed to Vaudrey, who remained standing, that little gloved fingers
appeared behind the window and that he caught glimpses of a face hidden
under a black, dotted veil.

The carriage disappeared in the distance.

"To the