Giraud, who was standing just behind her, gazed at her admiringly. She clasped the child, who was smiling at her, closer still, and murmured in a caressing tone:
"Fred! my dear Fred! I do so love you, if you only knew."
On hearing his own name pronounced so tenderly, the young tutor had started involuntarily, and he had had the greatest difficulty in keeping himself from advancing towards Denyse. He had turned so pale, too, and such a strange, drawn look had come over his face, that Pierrot, who, as a rule, was not endowed with much power of observation except in matters relating to Bijou, noticed it, and asked:
"What's the matter with you, Monsieur Giraud? you look so queer! are you ill?"
Denyse turned round abruptly, and asked with interest:
"You are not well, Monsieur Giraud?"
"I? oh, yes! perfectly well, thank you, mademoiselle. I don't know what made Pierrot fancy that."
"Oh, well!" said the youth, with conviction, "look at yourself; you look awfully queer! Besides, for the last three or four days you have not been yourself; you must have something the matter that you don't know of."
"I assure you," stuttered the poor fellow, in a perfect torture, "I assure you that there is nothing the matter with me."
M. de Clagny had approached them. He was looking enviously at little Fred nestling against Bijou's pretty shoulder.