“That was true, monsieur.”
“Then you have given your heart away since that time?”
Denise sighed and held her peace.
“I have no right to question you,” continued Auguste sharply; “but it is the interest you arouse in me, the—Do you know, Denise, I was sadly mistaken, for I thought that you loved me a little.”
“Oh, no! I don’t love you, monsieur—not with love. I must tell you that, as you wouldn’t come to the village any more if it wasn’t so. But I do hope you’ll come, monsieur; oh, yes! you must come to see the child you’ve adopted! I shan’t forget that I’m only a peasant and you’re a gentleman from the city; and I assure you that I shall never love you.”
As she finished, the girl turned away so that Auguste could not see the tears that fell from her eyes. But he was already far away, striding toward the house. He entered the living-room and said:
“Come, Bertrand, we must return to Paris.”
“Return to Paris it is, lieutenant; I’m all ready to do four leagues an hour. Adieu, mamma; your wine’s very nice. Some day when Schtrack has the time, I’ll bring him down here to reconnoitre.”
The girl entered the room and tried to read Auguste’s eyes; but he said to her without looking at her:
“Adieu, Denise, we’re off.”