She set down the watering-pot with which she was wetting the linen, and looked anxiously at her betrothed.
“I thought we had agreed to wait until the later season. Why do you wish to change that arrangement?”
“That is true; I promised not to hurry you, Reine, but it is beyond me to wait—you must not be vexed with me if I find the time long. Besides, they know nothing, around the village, of our intentions, and my coming here every day might cause gossip and make it unpleasant for you. At any rate, that is the opinion of Monsieur de Buxieres, with whom I was conferring only yesterday evening.”
At the name of Julien, Reine frowned and bit her lip.
“Aha!” said she, “it is he who has been advising you?”
“Yes; he says the sooner we are married, the better it will be.”
“Why does he interfere in what does not concern him?” said she, angrily, turning her head away. She stood a moment in thought, absently pushing forward the roll of linen with her foot. Then, shrugging her shoulders and raising her head, she said slowly, while still avoiding Claudet’s eyes:
“Perhaps you are right—both of you. Well, let it be so! I authorize you to go to Monsieur le Cure and arrange the day with him.”
“Oh, thanks, Reine!” exclaimed Claudet, rapturously; “you make me very happy!”
He pressed her hands in his, but though absorbed in his own joyful feelings, he could not help remarking that the young girl was trembling in his grasp. He even fancied that there was a suspicious, tearful glitter in her brilliant eyes.