“No, I am not indeed; and by this evening I shall have forgotten all about it. But confess, Marquis,” she added, with a coquettish laugh, “that this is a droll way of making an acquaintance.”
Norbert started at the word Marquis, for no one but Daumon had ever addressed him thus.
“She does not despise me,” thought he.
“This little incident will be a lesson to me,” continued she. “Mamma always has told me to keep to the highroad; but I preferred the by-paths because of the lovely scenery.”
Norbert, for the first time in his life, realized that the view was a beautiful one.
“I am this way nearly every day,” pursued Diana, “though I am very wicked to disobey my mother. I go to see poor La Berven. She is dying of consumption, poor thing, and I take her a little soup and wine every now and then.”
She spoke like a real Sister of Mercy, and, in Norbert’s opinion, wings only were lacking to transform her into a perfect angel.
“The poor woman has three children, and their father does nothing for them, for he drinks what he earns,” the young girl went on.
Berven was one of the identical men to whom Norbert had given his promissory note for four thousand francs, for he was one of the two men who had intrusted Daumon with their savings for investment; but the young man was not in a condition to notice this. Diana had meantime slung her basket on her arm.
“Before I leave you to-day,” said she, “I should so much like to ask a favor of you.”