"Do you come to the Bois often?" asked the minister.
"No. Why?"
"Because I shall frequently return here," he said in a trembling voice.
"Really!—Then, oh! why then, it would be love-making?" said Marianne, who pierced him with her warm, tender glances.
He wished to seize this woman's hand and print a kiss thereon, or to press his lips upon her bare neck upon which the golden honey-colored ringlets danced in the bright sunlight.
"On these clear, fine days," she said in an odd tone, emphasizing every word, "it is very likely that I shall return frequently to visit this pathway. Eh! what is that?" she said, turning around.
She was dragging a dry bramble that had fastened its thorns to the folds of her satin skirt and she stopped to shake it off.
"Stop," said Sulpice.
He desired to tread on the russet-colored bramble.
"You will tear my gown," said Marianne. "The bramble clings too tightly."