"My goats sometimes make me run quite a long way," continued the girl; "I know that I might take Vaillant with me, and that he would watch them; but someone must watch the house."
"Do none of your neighbors in the mountains ever come to chat with you, Isaure?"
"No, monsieur, never."
"And among all the travellers who pass through the valley, has there never been one who, like myself, has returned to the mountains to see you?"
"No, monsieur; but it very rarely happens that strangers come here, for the valley is not on any well-travelled route, and the mountaineers who act as guides to travellers always avoid passing the White House."
For a moment there was silence between the two young people. Edouard scrutinized the girl more closely; she watched her goats wandering about the hillside, and when from time to time she looked at Edouard, she smiled artlessly. It was not the smile of a coquette seeking to beguile, it was the smile of innocence which sees no peril in the pleasure to which it gives birth.
"I was told at Chadrat that reading is not your sole talent," said Edouard; "you sing also."
"Yes, monsieur, I often sing; I have nothing better to do! But I sing very badly, I imagine."
"Who can have taught you songs that are unknown in these mountains?"
A faint flush rose to Isaure’s cheeks as she replied, lowering her eyes: