"You will repent," he said.
For an instant she turned her great eyes dark with pride on him.
"Never!" she said, and walked away.
At Ancelles the roses still blossomed, the sun still shone, though not so hotly, on the little twisting paths, the water nymph still bent gracefully for her dive, and amongst them all flitted their little mistress. In and out, gayer, more restless, swifter of foot than even of yore, she wended her way—a laugh ever on her lips, merry words tripping from her tongue, and hovering near—Jeannette.
"Life is good, Jeannette," cried mademoiselle, and gaily she made herself a crown of roses.
"Life with love—yes, mamzelle," murmured Jeannette, for she was getting desperate over the problem as to how long a young girl could live eating nothing, or next to nothing.
"Love? Bah! Jeannette, what an old sentimentalist you are!"
Yet Jeannette had heard the sharp, indrawn breath that preceded the mocking words.
And why did mamzelle have to rest half-way up to her room now?