"Jeanne Hachette saved Beauvais."
"On the whole, monsieur le baron, it seems to be about an even thing."
Let us leave our two friends to return to Grenoble, discussing the nature of womankind,—a discussion which might lead them very far, and leave them without any additional knowledge of the subject; for a learned man has said that a woman's heart has as many varying moods as there are grains of sand on the seashore (and he must have been learned, indeed, to know the number of the latter),—and let us return to Frédéric.
He breathed more freely when Dubourg had left him, and ere long he heard the steps of the horses which bore his companions away. Thereupon, as well pleased as Crates, who cried, after throwing all his money into the sea: "Now I am free!" he felt more at liberty to abandon himself to his passion for the dumb girl, since he was rid of Dubourg and Ménard; and he hurried away to the cabin. Frédéric did not look beyond the present; he did not reflect; for he was twenty-one years old, and he was passionately in love!
Sister Anne was in the garden, trembling from head to foot; old Marguerite was asleep, and the girl could abandon herself without restraint to the sentiments which agitated her. The presence of those two men who knew Frédéric caused her a disquietude which became more painful with every minute that passed. To live without her friend seemed impossible to her now. Love was life itself to that heart of flame which had not learned, in that forest solitude, to control its passions. Her loving heart had flown to meet him who had said to her: "I love you." But when she gave herself to him, Sister Anne bound herself forever. Frédéric had taught her to know happiness; he had revivified her heart, withered by misfortune. When she finds that she has the power to please, a woman is born again. What would become of her, if she must renounce that hope at sixteen? Frédéric was all in all to her; and until that moment love had seemed to her the summit of earthly happiness. But there is no lasting happiness, especially in love. Only a few short days of bliss had passed, and already the poor child was beginning to know the suffering which that sentiment brings in its train.
At last, Frédéric appeared. She did not run—she flew into his arms; she cast her eyes about; he was alone, and her heart was more at ease.
"No," said her lover, kissing her; "I will not leave you. Where could I find a lovelier woman—one more faithful or more worthy to be loved? What do I care what they say? what do I care for a world to which no tie binds me? I am perfectly happy here. My father himself could not induce me to give you up!"
Another kiss on the girl's sweet lips sealed the promise he had made. The night with its darkness brought even sweeter moments, for the lovers shared the same couch; and in the arms of her who lavished the most loving caresses upon him, Frédéric repeated his vow:
"No, I will never leave you!"
But after a week, the days passed less swiftly for our lover; the poor girl's fond caresses no longer sufficed to occupy the time; he felt that he must have some occupation, that one cannot dream one's whole life away beside a mountain stream.