I am."

"Paul, I entreat you!"

Jean's discomfort was evident.

"We will not speak of it again; we will not speak of it again. What I
wanted to say, in short, is that Miss Percival perhaps thinks I am
agreeable; but as to considering me seriously, that little person will
never commit such a folly. I must fall back upon Mrs. Scott, but without
much confidence. You see, Jean, I shall amuse myself in this house, but I
shall make nothing out of it."

Paul de Lavardens did fall back upon Mrs. Scott, but the next day was
surprised to stumble upon Jean, who had taken to placing himself very
regularly in Mrs. Scott's particular circle, for like Bettina she had
also her little court. But what Jean sought there was a protection, a
shelter, a refuge.

The day of that memorable conversation on marriage without love, Bettina
had also, for the first time, felt suddenly awake in her that necessity
of loving which sleeps, but not very profoundly, in the hearts of all
young girls. The sensation had been the same, at the same moment, in the
soul of Bettina and the soul of Jean. He, terrified, had cast it
violently from him. She, on the contrary, had yielded, in all the
simplicity of her perfect innocence, to this flood of emotion and of
tenderness.

She had waited for love. Could this be love? The man who was to be her
thought, her life, her soul--could this be he--this Jean? Why not? She
knew him better than she knew all those who, during the past year, had
haunted her for her fortune, and in what she knew of him there was
nothing to discourage the love of a good girl. Far from it!

Both of them did well; both of them were in the way of duty and of
truth--she, in yielding; he, in resisting; she, in not thinking for a
moment of the obscurity of Jean; he, in recoiling before her mountain of
wealth as he would have recoiled before a crime; she, in thinking that
she had no right to parley with love; he, in thinking he had no right to
parley with honor.

This is why, in proportion as Bettina showed herself more tender, and
abandoned herself with more frankness to the first call of love--this is
why Jean became, day by day, more gloomy and more restless. He was not
only afraid of loving; he was afraid of being loved.

He ought to have remained away; he should not have come near her. He had
tried; he could not; the temptation was too strong; it carried him away;
so he came. She would come to him, her hands extended, a smile on her