I donned a gray felt, with a pointed crown and a broad brim, in which I must have resembled an Italian bandit; all I needed was the ribbons. Frédérique escorted me to the garden. It contained nearly two acres, and was laid out in an original fashion. There were none of the customary, broad, straight paths; on the contrary, they wound and twisted about in all directions—a veritable labyrinth. Shade trees, shrubbery, and thickets combined to make the garden a fascinating spot, which appeared four times larger than it really was.
Our first day passed very quickly. I was installed in the small pavilion, and was very comfortable there; but it seemed to me that I should prefer to be in the main house, under the same roof with Frédérique. My friendship for her developed so rapidly that when I was fifteen minutes without seeing her I felt that something was missing: I had never loved a mistress as I loved that friend.
When I woke for the first time in that house to which I had come so unexpectedly, I was conscious of a feeling of contentment, of secret happiness, which I could not describe. Was it pleasure because I was in the country with a person who manifested such sincere friendship for me? Was it satisfaction because I had acted wisely in going away from Mignonne and being careful not to take an unfair advantage of the sentiment I had inspired? Or was it simply the change of air?
I went to a window that looked on the garden, and I heard a voice calling me a sluggard. Frédérique was already up. She wore a white dress, cut like a blouse, with a blue sash. I had noticed that blue was her favorite color. Her little straw cap was on her head, and her beautiful glossy black hair fell in dense curls on both sides of her face.
It seemed to me that I had never seen her so lovely, so alluring. Ah! it is a fact that in the country, amid the green fields and trees, everything that appeals to our senses moves and excites us more keenly than elsewhere.
Frédérique put her arm through mine and we strolled about the garden. For the first time, I was conscious of a peculiar sensation at the contact of her arm with mine. Was it really the first time that I had experienced that sensation? No. But that morning it seemed sweeter to me; and yet, for some unknown reason, I was no longer so light-hearted, so at my ease with her; I was almost afraid to look at her. What thoughts were these that came into my head? I dared not heed them.
Madame Dauberny had never been so amiable, so gay, so kind, so sparkling. I thought that I knew her; but to be able to appreciate fully all the resources of her wit, all the charm of her society, and all the seductiveness of her beauty, I found that it was necessary to be alone with her in that charming retreat.
The time passed with extraordinary rapidity; and yet there were but we two. We made frequent trips in the saddle or on foot about the surrounding country. The horses that we hired were very ugly—but what did we care? We did not go out to exhibit ourselves. When the weather was bad, we played and sang, or I drew some landscape that I had sketched, while she read aloud to me. Every morning she said:
"My friend, if you want to take a trip to Paris, don't hesitate; you can come back this evening; but don't go to your own rooms, if Mignonne is there. As we have undertaken to cure that young woman, we must not cause a relapse."
"Do you mean that you are tired of me?" I would say; "would you like to be rid of me for to-day?"