"Oh, my dearest, how very happy we shall be, when we no longer have to part, even for a few hours," answered Blanche, smiling at her lover, "how much I shall like living in the country! I shall breathe more freely there in the pure air, I am sure, than in this close room. We shall play and run on the grass, shall we not, dear?"
"Yes, and we will work in our own garden."
"How delightful! We shall have flowers then, and I am so passionately fond of them."
"We shall have some cows also, I hope," said Marguerite.
"Oh, yes, dear nurse, and some pigeons, and rabbits and fowls—it will all be so delightful. It seems to me that when I was a very little child I lived in the country, in a house where they had all those things."
"Poor Blanche! and is that all you remember of your infancy?"
"I still remember a lady who was always with me, who often kissed me; no doubt she was my mother."
"Poor woman!" said Marguerite; "perhaps she is still living; and to think that no one knows. But away with sad thoughts!"
"Then you'll not regret Paris, my dear Blanche," said Urbain.
"Would you wish me to regret it, dear, when you are with me?"