“I am all the more troubled,” added he, humbly, “that after what has happened, my visit must appear to you indiscreet, if not improper.”
Reine, who had more quickly recovered her self-possession, pretended not to understand the unwise allusion that had escaped the lips of her visitor. She rose, pushed away with her foot the stalks and pods, which encumbered the passage, and replied, very shortly:
“You are excused, Monsieur. There is no need of an introduction to enter La Thuiliere. Besides, I suppose that the motive which has brought you here can only be a proper one.”
While thus speaking, she shook her skirt down, and without any affectation buttoned up her camisole.
“Certainly, Mademoiselle,” faltered Julien, “it is a most serious and respectable motive that causes me to wish for an interview, and—if—I do not disturb you—”
“Not in the least, Monsieur; but, if you wish to speak with me, it is unnecessary for you to remain standing. Allow me to fetch you a chair.”
She went into the house, leaving the young man overwhelmed with the coolness of his reception; a few minutes later she reappeared, bringing a chair, which she placed under the tree. “Sit here, you will be in the shade.”
She seated herself on the same step as before, leaning her back against the wall, and her head on her hand.
“I am ready to listen to you,” she said.
Julien, much less under his own control than she, discovered that his mission was more difficult than he had imagined it would be; he experienced a singular amount of embarrassment in unfolding his subject; and was obliged to have recourse to prolonged inquiries concerning the health of Monsieur Vincart.