Several days passed swiftly. In the morning Auguste and Denise went to walk in the country. Coco always went with them, but his presence did not incommode them; for their eyes alone betrayed their feelings, and an innocent heart has no fear of witnesses. At night, when they were together in the cottage, the hours flew more swiftly still, and when they separated, they exchanged a loving: “Until to-morrow.”
Auguste could not conceal from himself the fact that he adored Denise, and, being persuaded that she had no other feeling than friendship for him, he said to himself:
“This girl will end by turning my head. But she loves me only as a brother; she doesn’t know how dangerous to my repose her affectionate glances and caresses are. I must leave her and return to Paris; a few days more and I shan’t have strength to do it.”
On her side Denise said to herself:
“Great heaven! doesn’t he see that I love him? I do all that I can to show him! Is it that he doesn’t choose to understand me? In that case I must just tell him how it is; and now that he has nothing at all and I have a little money, perhaps he’ll not despise the little village girl.”
Although he continued to tell himself that he must go away from Denise, Auguste did not leave the cottage, where he was so comfortable. But one evening when he was alone with her, he inquired:
“How does it happen, Denise, that you are not married?”
“Because I didn’t choose to marry, monsieur!” she replied, raising her lovely eyes to his.
“But you were in love with someone, surely? You told me so. What obstacle has prevented you from marrying the object of your choice?”
Denise blushed and no longer dared to look at Auguste. At last she faltered in a tremulous voice: