"Well! one would suppose that I expected this girl to be in love with me already?—I preach at Alfred, and I am no better than he is."
"I will go down the mountain with you," said Isaure; "it is time for me to go home—my poor Vaillant must be tired."
She ran at once to collect her herd, and drove it toward the valley, skipping about and laughing heartily at every antic of her goats. Edouard followed her, saying to himself:
"Her heart is calm and undisturbed; this frank gayety, this sweet unrestraint show that her mind is not burdened with thoughts of love. Poor child! for her own good, I pray that she may never know that passion, which causes more sorrow than pleasure!"
Edouard sighed; something whispered to him that he would be very glad to make that sorrow and that pleasure known to Isaure.
They reached the cottage, Isaure opened her door, and her dog ran out and leaped upon her; then he looked at Edouard and walked around him, but showed no temper.
"I believe that he recognizes you already," said the girl.
Edouard walked up to Vaillant and patted him a moment; the dog made no objection, but kept his eyes fixed on his mistress, as if to ask her whether the young man was a friend of hers.
"Good!" said Edouard, "I see that we shall be very good friends before long.—Adieu, charming Isaure! until to-morrow morning."
"Until to-morrow, Monsieur—Pardon me, but I do not know your name."