“You shouldn’t stand on ceremony in the country. Besides, monsieur will bear me company. We will catch butterflies together.”
“I will catch whatever you please, madame,” said Auguste, with a smile which was instantly succeeded by a wry face, because Madame Destival pinched his arm as she replied:
“No, the air will do me good. But I thought that you intended to have some music?”
“Oh! we shall have time enough this evening, as I am to pass the night here. Is monsieur to remain?”
“If madame will kindly allow me to do so?” said Auguste, glancing at his hostess, who replied angrily:
“As you please, monsieur.”
After walking for some time longer, they stopped beside a swing, and the sprightly Athalie sprang to a seat on the narrow plank, held in place by two cords only, saying to Auguste:
“Oh! do give me a push, please. I am wild over swinging; I have nearly killed myself a dozen times, but it makes no difference, I always come back to it. Not too high, monsieur, do you understand?”
“As high or as low as you choose, madame.”
Auguste stood near the swing and pushed gently, while Madame Destival seated herself at a little distance, with her handkerchief at her eyes. The young man was distraught; he looked at Athalie and Madame Destival in turn; the former’s petulant ways attracted him, the other’s grief seemed to cause him pain.