'Oh, yes; but it is not finished yet.'
This was a period of close intimacy between the two young people. Lazare showed a warm affection for Pauline, which a feeling of gratitude for the money she had advanced served to strengthen. Again, too, he gradually lost sight of her sex and regarded her as a boyish companion, a younger brother, whose good points became more manifest every day. She was so sensible and courageous, so cheerful and pleasant, that he could not refrain from looking on her with an unconfessed feeling of respect and esteem, which he tried to conceal even from himself by chaffing and teasing her. In the most unconcerned and casual way she had told him of her private studies and her aunt's horror, and he had experienced a moment's wonder and embarrassment as the girl, who knew so much already, turned her big candid eyes upon him. After that, however, a perfect understanding seemed to exist between them, and he talked freely and openly, as they worked together at their common studies. She was continually asking him questions, in which she appeared to have no other object than the simple acquisition of information, so that she might make herself useful to him. And she often amused him by the many gaps which she showed in her knowledge, by the extraordinary mixture of information with which she was crammed. When she showed herself to be labouring under some ludicrous misconception, Lazare broke out into such peals of laughter that she grew quite angry with him and told him that it would be much better if, instead of laughing at her, he would show her where she was wrong; and the matter generally terminated in a lesson.
Pauline, however, was changing; she often felt a vague uneasiness. At times, when Lazare pulled her about in his brotherly fashion, her heart would beat excitedly. The woman whom they had forgotten all about was awaking within her amid the pulsing of her blood. She often believed that she was on the point of falling into some serious illness, for she grew very feverish, and could not sleep. In the daytime, too, she felt weary and listless, but she made no complaints to her aunt.
One evening, after dinner, however, she began to talk about the absurdity and annoyance of dreams. How tiresome it was that one was compelled to lie on one's back, quite defenceless and helpless, a prey to all sorts of idiotic ideas and fancies! But what vexed her most, she said, was the absolute loss and annihilation both of the will and body power. Then her cousin, with his pessimistic views, also fell foul of dreams, as disturbing the happiness and serenity of utter unconsciousness. Her uncle, however, proceeded to distinguish between different sorts of dreams, saying that he liked to have pleasant ones, while he detested nightmares. Pauline spoke so strongly on the subject that Madame Chanteau, in surprise, began to question her. Then she stammered and hesitated, saying that her dreams were about all sorts of ridiculous things, trifles too vague to remember. And she was speaking the truth in this respect, for the incidents of her dreams remained obscure. She saw no one in them; and all she felt was like the kiss of the sea-breezes as they flew at her window in the summer-time.
Every day Pauline's affection for Lazare seemed to increase. And this was not merely the instinctive awakening of womanhood after seven years' brotherly companionship; she also felt a need of devoting herself to somebody, and illusion showed him to her as the worthiest in intelligence and strength of all she knew. By slow degrees her old sisterly feeling was being transformed into love, with sweet touches of budding passion, secret thrills, furtive longings, all the fond delights that attend the heart's start upon its journey of affection, beneath the promptings of Nature. Lazare, protected by his former free-and-easy life in the students' quarter of Paris, had no curiosity to satisfy, and still looked upon her as a sister, never as an object of desire; while she, on the other hand, all virginal purity in this lonely spot where she knew no other young man, grew to worship him more and more, and to bestow herself upon him entirely. From morning till evening, when they were together, she seemed to derive life from his presence, and her eyes ever sought his, as she eagerly busied herself to serve him.
About this time Madame Chanteau became quite astonished at Pauline's piety. She saw her go twice to confession. Then all at once she seemed to take a dislike to Abbé Horteur, and for three Sundays even refused to go to mass, only resuming her attendance at the church subsequently in order that she might not displease her aunt. She gave no explanation of her conduct; but she had probably been offended and displeased by something the Abbé had said to her, for he was not a man of refined speech. It was at this period that Madame Chanteau, with her keen maternal instinct, discovered Pauline's growing love for Lazare; but she said nothing about it to anyone, not even to her husband. The knowledge of it came upon her as a surprise, for until now affection and possible marriage between the young people had not entered into her plans or thoughts. Like Lazare, she had gone on regarding her ward as a mere schoolgirl. Now, she told herself, it was her duty to look sharply after them; but she did not do so, really feeling very little interest or anxiety about a love which her son did not appear to return.
When the hot days of August came round, Lazare suggested one evening that they should have a bathe next day, on their way to the works. Madame Chanteau accompanied them on this occasion, in spite of the terrible heat. She sat down on the burning shingle, with Matthew by her side, sheltering herself beneath her sunshade, under which the dog tried to stretch his head.
'Hallo! where's she off to?' all at once cried Lazare, as he saw Pauline disappear behind a rock.
'She is going to get ready, of course!' said Madame Chanteau. 'Turn your head away. It isn't decorous; and she won't like it.'
He seemed quite astonished, then looked at his mother, and turned his back to the rock. Finally, he also began to undress, without saying a word.