The remark and the tone provoked Claudet.
“The delay is not of my making,” returned he.
“Ah!” replied the other, quickly, “then it comes from Mademoiselle Vincart?” And a sudden gleam came into his eyes, as if Claudet’s assertion had kindled a spark of hope in his breast. The latter noticed the momentary brightness in his cousin’s usually stormy countenance, and hastened to reply:
“Nay, nay; we both think it better to postpone the wedding until the harvest is in.”
“You are wrong. A wedding should not be postponed. Besides, this prolonged love-making, these daily visits to the farm—all that is not very proper. It is compromising for Mademoiselle Vincart!”
Julien shot out these remarks with a degree of fierceness and violence that astonished Claudet.
“You think, then,” said he, “that we ought to rush matters, and have the wedding before winter?”
“Undoubtedly!”
The next day, at La Thuiliere, the grand chasserot, as he stood in the orchard, watching Reine spread linen on the grass, entered bravely on the subject.
“Reine,” said he, coaxingly, “I think we shall have to decide upon a day for our wedding.”