This project once formed, he began operations by endeavoring to ingratiate himself into the good graces of Mademoiselle de Mirandol. Up to this time, he had treated her rather coolly, but he now changed his tactics and showed her many of those little attentions which he had hitherto reserved for his adopted sister. It was just as Antoinette was becoming too much interested in Philip for her own peace of mind that she noticed his change of manner. She misunderstood him. Who would not have been deceived? During their rambles, Philip seemed to take pleasure in walking by her side. Every morning she found beside her plate a bouquet which he had culled. He never went to Avignon or to Nîmes without bringing some little souvenir for her. What interpretation could she place upon these frequent marks of interest? Her own love made her credulous. After receiving many such attentions from him, she fancied she comprehended his motive.
"He loves me," she said one evening to Dolores.
The latter thought her bereft of her senses. Could it be possible that Philip had forgotten his former love so soon? Was he deceiving her when he pressed his suit with such ardor? Impossible! How could she suppose it even for a moment? Still Dolores could not even imagine such a possibility without a shudder. After the struggle between her conscience and her heart, she had secretly resolved that Philip should cease to love her, that she would sacrifice herself to Mademoiselle de Mirandol, to whose charms he could not long remain insensible and whom he would eventually marry. Yes; she was ready to see her own misery consummated without a murmur; but to be thus forgotten in a few weeks seemed terrible.
"If this is really so," she thought, "Philip is as unworthy of Antionette as he is of me. But it cannot be. She is mistaken."
Was Antoinette deceiving herself? To set her mind at rest upon this point, Dolores questioned her friend in regard to the acts and words which she had interpreted as proofs of Philip's love for her. Mademoiselle de Mirandol revealed them to her friend; and Dolores was reassured. The attentions that had been bestowed upon the ward of the Marquis de Chamondrin by that gentleman's son did not assume in the eyes of Dolores that importance which had been attributed to them by her more romantic and enthusiastic companion; nevertheless, she was careful not to disturb a conviction that caused Antoinette so much happiness.
The following day, as Mademoiselle de Mirandol was leaving her room, she encountered Philip in the hall.
"I wish to speak with you," he said, rapidly and in low tones as he passed her. "I will wait for you in the park near the Buissieres."
His pleasant voice rung in Antoinette's ears long after he had disappeared, leaving her in a state of mingled ecstasy and confusion. Her cheeks were flushed and her heart throbbed violently. She hurried away to conceal her embarrassment from Dolores, who was following her, and soon went to join Philip at the Buissieres. This was the name they had bestowed upon a hedge of tall bushes to the left of the park, and which enclosed as if by two high thick walls a quiet path where the sun's rays seldom or never found their way. It was to this spot that Antoinette directed her steps, reproaching herself all the while for the readiness with which she obeyed Philip, and looking back every now and then to see if any one was observing her.
She soon arrived at the Buissieres; Philip was awaiting her. On seeing her approach, he came forward to meet her. She noticed that his manner was perfectly composed, that his features betrayed no emotion, and that he was smiling as if to assure her that what he desired to tell her was neither solemn nor frightful in its nature. Antoinette was somewhat disappointed. She had expected to find him pale and nervous, and with his hair disordered like the lovers described in the two or three innocent romances that had chanced to fall into her hands.