“Why?”
“Because then I should not hear it.”
“You have no imagination.”
“I have; but I smother it.”
“Possibly. I have suspected you of hiding your merits, and particularly from me.”
“Why should I conceal my merits from you?”
“‘Why should I conceal my merits’ is good!” said the Marquise, ironically. “Why? Out of charity, Monsieur, not to dazzle me, and in regard for my repose! You are really too good, I assure you. Here comes the rain.”
Large drops of rain began to fall on the dry leaves, and on the yellow sand of the alley. The day was dying, and the sudden shower bent the boughs of the trees.
“We must return,” said the young woman; “this begins to get serious.”
She took, in haste, the path which led to the chateau; but after a few steps a bright flash broke over her head, the noise of the thunder resounded, and a deluge of rain fell upon the fields.