Denise rose; but she was covered with confusion, she dared not look up at the young man, who, far from taking advantage of her embarrassment, inquired solicitously whether she was hurt.
“Oh, no! it ain’t anything,” said Denise, still blushing. “I should have forgotten all about it before this if that cursed branch—Pardi! I must be mighty unlucky.”
“Why so? because you fell? Why, my dear child, that might happen to anybody.”
“Yes, but it’s possible to fall without showing—without—Never mind, you’re the first one that ever saw it, all the same.”
“Ah! I would like to be the last one, too.—Come, why this offended expression? I promise you that I didn’t see anything; I thought of nothing but helping you. I was so afraid that you had hurt yourself! It would have been my fault; for, if it hadn’t been for my nonsense, you would have gone your way in peace, and this wouldn’t have happened.”
As Denise listened to Auguste, her anger passed away, and she even smiled as she said:
“I ain’t cross with you any more. You’re more decent than I thought; if I’d fallen like that before the village fellows, they’d have laughed to begin with, and then they’d have made a lot of silly talk, and there wouldn’t have been any end to it. Instead of that, you picked me right up, and you looked so scared!—I’m sorry now that I scratched you. Come, kiss me, to prove that you forgive me.”
Auguste made the most of this permission. Denise was so pretty when she smiled! and a woman who defends herself so sturdily makes the favors that she grants seem the more precious.
So peace was made between the milkmaid and the young man. But White Jean was no longer there; overjoyed to be rid of his burden, he had kept on through the woods.
“Oh! I ain’t worried,” said Denise; “I’m sure he’s gone home. Let’s take this path and we shall soon be in the village.”