Edouard was on the point of asking: "By whom?" But he dared not; he checked the impulse because he felt that his acquaintance with Isaure was of too recent date to justify such a question. He was conscious of a certain dissatisfaction, and it occurred to him that if Robineau were there, he would say that the girl received a good many presents.
"Mon Dieu! perhaps you have not breakfasted, monsieur?" exclaimed the young goatherd suddenly. "Will you come to the house? I never thought of it!"
"No, no, I do not care for anything," said Edouard, detaining her; "I only wish to talk with you, if it doesn’t bore you."
"Bore me! far from it, monsieur! People talk with me so seldom! The shepherds drive their flocks as far as possible from mine, the shepherdesses avoid me, and yet I have never injured anybody; have I a wicked look, monsieur?"
"Oh, no! quite the opposite!" cried Edouard, on the point of taking her hand and squeezing it tenderly; but again he restrained himself.
"Since my dear mother’s death, I have noticed that people avoid me, that they hardly speak to me. At first that made me unhappy—it seemed very sad to be all alone in the world, at my age—but since I have had Vaillant, I am no longer alone. He loves me dearly, Vaillant does! He doesn’t turn away when I want to caress him!"
There was in Isaure’s tone and language a blending of innocence and charm, whose fascination it was hard to resist. It was the language of a well-educated girl with the ingenuous tone of a native of the mountains. As he listened to her Edouard felt that his suspicions faded away.
"You have no objection, then," he said, "to my coming sometimes to talk with you?"
"Whenever you please, monsieur. Do you live near?"
"Why—yes—at La Roche-Noire; within two short leagues."