Ah, that is a good joke, Monsieur de Buxieres!
Naturally, I should not go proclaiming on the housetops that I have a
tender feeling for Mademoiselle Vincart, but, all the same, I should have
told you had you asked me sooner. I am not reserved; but, you must excuse
my saying it, you are walled in like a subterranean passage. One can not
get at the color of your thoughts. I never for a moment imagined that you
were interested in Reine, and you never have made me sufficiently at home
to entertain the idea of confiding in you on that subject."

Julien remained silent. He had reseated himself at the table, where,
leaning his head in his hands, he pondered over what Claudet had said. He
placed his hand so as to screen his eyes, and bit his lips as if a
painful struggle was going on within him. The splendors of the setting
sun had merged into the dusky twilight, and the last piping notes of the
birds sounded faintly among the sombre trees. A fresh breeze had sprung
up, and filled the darkening room with the odor of honeysuckle.

Under the soothing influence of the falling night, Julien slowly raised
his head, and addressing Claudet in a low and measured voice like a
father confessor interrogating a penitent, said:

"Does Reine know that you love her?"

"I think she must suspect it," replied Claudet, "although I never have
ventured to declare myself squarely. But girls are very quick, Reine
especially. They soon begin to suspect there is some love at bottom, when
a young man begins to hang around them too frequently."

"You see her often, then?"

"Not as often as I should like. But, you know, when one lives in the same
district, one has opportunities of meeting--at the beech harvest, in the
woods, at the church door. And when you meet, you talk but little, making
the most of your time. Still, you must not suppose, as I think you did,
that we have rendezvous in the evening. Reine respects herself too much
to go about at night with a young man as escort, and besides, she has
other fish to fry. She has a great deal to do at the farm, since her
father has become an invalid."

"Well, do you think she loves you?" said Julien, with a movement of
nervous irritation.

"I can not tell," replied Claudet shrugging his shoulders, "she has
confidence in me, and shows me some marks of friendship, but I never have
ventured to ask her whether she feels anything more than friendship for
me. Look here, now. I have good reasons for keepin