“Well, how is old Nimrod getting on?” said Father Gerbaut to my uncle, who had just come out of his room.
“As well as can be expected at my age, M. Gerbaut. It is necessary for the violet to blossom in spring, and the beech-tree to put forth its buds in May. He is just sixteen and a half years old. When I was at that age, I already had a sweetheart.”
I felt myself blushing to the very tips of my ears.
“Ah! I never had but one love. But where are you going to in this fashion?” asked my uncle; “for I cannot think that you came all this way on purpose to pay me a visit.”
“No, my old friend; though I am delighted to see you. I am on my way to St. Menehould, to put a few little affairs of mine in order. I have been appointed a member of the Federation, and I do not know how long we may be compelled to stay in Paris.”
“What a pity that you have not got a third seat in your carriage. I also have business at St. Menehould, and I would have asked you to give me a lift.”
“Good!” said M. Gerbaut; “all can be arranged. Sophie does not much care to go to St. Menehould. Do you, Sophie?”
“I only care to go, so as to be with you, father.”
“Well, then, stay here with Réné. You can stroll, in the wood, like two lovers, and we, like two old fogies as we are, will go and look after our affairs. If Réné were a young nobleman, I should not place so much trust in him; but he is a good lad, a clever workman, and an honest man, and as I would trust him with a purse, so will I trust him with my child.”
I looked joyfully at Sophie, but she showed neither pleasure nor sorrow; she seemed to be exactly of her father’s opinion, that we might be trusted together.