derness toward her, had, as
was his custom every morning since she had been ill, half opened the
door to ask news of her. The growling of Mirza aroused Bathilde, who
turned round and saw Boniface, and having before conjectured that she
might probably know from him that which she should ask in vain from the
others, namely, what had become of D'Harmental, she had, while quieting
Mirza, extended her pale and emaciated hand to Boniface. Boniface took
it between his own two great red hands, then, looking at the young girl,
and shaking his head:

"Yes, Mademoiselle Bathilde, yes," said he, "you were right; you are a
lady, and I am only a coarse peasant. You deserved a nobleman, and it
was impossible that you should love me."

"As you wished, true, Boniface, but I can love you in another manner."

"True, Mademoiselle Bathilde, very true; well, love me as you will, so
that you love me a little."

"I can love you as a brother."

"As a brother! You could love poor Boniface as a brother, and he might
love you as a sister; he might sometimes hold your hand as he holds it
now, and embrace you as he sometimes embraces Melie and Nais? Oh!
speak, Mademoiselle Bathilde, what must I do for that?"

"My friend--" said Bathilde.

"She has called me her friend," said Boniface, "she has called me her
friend--I, who have said such things about her. Listen, Mademoiselle
Bathilde: do not call me your friend, I am not worthy of the name. You
do not know what I have said--I said that you lived with an old man; but
I did not believe it, Mademoiselle Bathilde, on my honor I did not--it
was anger, it was rage. Mademoiselle Bathilde, call me beggar, rascal;
it will give me less pain than to hear you term me your friend."

"My friend," recommenced Bathilde, "if you have said all that, I pardon
you, for now not only can you make up for it, but also acquire eternal
claims upon my gratitude."

"And what shall I do? Speak! Let me see! Must I go through the fire?
Shall I jump out of the second-floor window? Shall I--What shall I do?
Tell me! Everything is alike."

"No, no, my friend, something much easier."

"Speak, Mademoiselle Bathilde, speak!"

"First it is necessary that you should swear to do it."

"I swear by Heaven!"

"Whatever they may say to hinder you?"

"Hinder me from doing what you ask?--never!"

"Whatever may be the grief that it may cause me?"

"No, that is a different thing; if it is to give you pain I would rather
be c