Bijou laughed merrily. "Oh, well, do you mean to say that you don't admire any woman?"
"Yes, I do—there's one—"
"Who is it?" she asked, looking full at the peasant, with her frank, innocent expression.
Lavenue turned redder still, and stooped down with an awkward movement to pick up his hat, which had fallen to the ground.
"I can't say," he stuttered out; "she isn't for such as me."
Bijou did not hear his reply. With her pretty figure slightly bent, and her head thrown back, she was slowly drinking a second cup of milk, whilst the farmer, who had recovered himself, stood still, with his eyes wide open, gazing at this fragile-looking young creature in timid, half-fearful admiration.
When Bijou had finished her milk, she looked at him critically, with a smile on her lips.
"My goodness! how warm it is to-day," he said, wiping with the back of his hand the great drops of perspiration, which stood out on his forehead.
"Thank you, so much, Monsieur Lavenue," said Denyse, getting up; "your milk is delicious."
"Oh! but you aren't surely going to start off again already?" he said, with a downcast look.