When he felt Bettina's little hand slip into his arm, and when she turned toward him her delicious face, he said:
"Miss Percival is the prettier!"
But his perplexities gathered round him again when he was seated between the two sisters. If he looked to the right, love threatened him from that direction, and if he looked to the left, the danger removed immediately, and passed to the left.
Conversation began, easy, animated, confidential. The two sisters were charmed; they had already walked in the park; they promised themselves a long ride in the forest tomorrow. Riding was their passion, their madness. It was also Jean's passion, so that after a quarter of an hour they begged him to join them the next day. There was no one who knew the country round better than he did; it was his native place. He should be so happy to do the honors of it, and to show them numbers of delightful little spots which, without him, they would never discover.
"Do you ride every day?" asked Bettina.
"Every day and sometimes twice. In the morning on duty, and in the evening I am ride for my own pleasure."
"Early in the morning?"
"At half-past five."
"At half-past five every morning?"
"Yes, except Sunday."