They passed thus a great part of the day. Frédéric remained in the woods, where Sister Anne brought him fruit and milk, so that he need not go to the village. Already the girl dreaded to have him leave her. She ran again and again to the cabin to see if Marguerite needed her; but the good old woman slept much of the day, and Sister Anne soon ran back to her new friend.
Toward evening, she remained longer with her adopted mother. Meanwhile, Frédéric went down to the stream and waited for her there, his notebook making the time pass quickly. When the girl surprised him writing, she heaved a profound sigh, and, looking sadly down at herself, seemed to say:
"I don't know anything; I never shall know anything."
"I will be your teacher," said Frédéric, in reply to her unspoken thoughts; "I will teach you to speak on paper."
At nightfall, the young man left his friend, who accompanied him sadly to his horse, and whose eyes said:
"Until to-morrow!"
A week passed away. Every morning at daybreak Frédéric left Grenoble, and rode to Vizille on the first horse he found in the inn stable. He passed the whole day with Sister Anne, and left her at nightfall.
When he was away from the dumb girl, Frédéric barely existed, and Sister Anne was no longer happy except when she was with him. Love had taken possession of her heart, without any resistance from her; it had made its appearance embellished by so many charms! why should she repel that sentiment which made her happy? Frédéric possessed every element of seduction; he kept telling her that he loved her and would love her all his life; she did not for one moment doubt his oaths; she did not know what inconstancy was. Why should he lie to her? She abandoned herself to the joy of loving. Her mouth could utter no loving words, but her eyes told him all that was taking place in her heart, and a single one of her glances was equal to the most loving protestations.
Frédéric tried to teach her to write, but love constantly interfered with the lessons he gave her. Seated by her side, pressing her to his heart, with full liberty to gaze at leisure on her lovely features, her intoxicating eyes—he stopped, and forgot what he was about to show her. She looked at him and smiled, and the lesson was forgotten. Frédéric strained her to his heart, his passions were aroused—but one is timid with innocence, especially when one loves sincerely.
But the most timid passion grows bold in time; the habit of seeing each other, of being together, of displaying their mutual affection, drew them closer together every day. They were always alone in the forest, and the forest is a very dangerous place for innocence. Could they long resist their hearts, the flame that consumed them? Frédéric became daring, and Sister Anne gave herself to him without regret, without remorse, for it seemed natural to her to make the man happy whom she was sure that she should love all her life.