"Tell me why you did not confess the truth yesterday, when I asked you where you had been? Were you not at perfect liberty to come here if you chose? Why make a mystery of it with me? Had you promised anyone to keep it secret? At all events she has been more discreet than you."
"Since when have I been obliged to account to you for all my actions?" inquired Edouard angrily; "What difference does it make to you whether I came or did not come to this valley? A friend may receive our confidences, but he should not try to pry into what we choose to keep secret from him."
"A friend!" exclaimed Alfred sarcastically; "that name is as common as it is rarely deserved!"
"True enough! A man is no longer our friend when he seeks to open our eyes to the consequences of our passions, or to prevent us from doing some new foolish thing!"
"It is very fine to give advice to others, when one needs similar advice oneself!"
Again the young men were silent. Isaure looked from one to the other with amazement mingled with anxiety, but she dared not speak to them.
After a little time, Alfred burst out laughing as he looked at Edouard, and then exclaimed:
"Upon my word, my dear Edouard, we are like two great children! The idea of having a row, of being sulky with each other, just for a pretty face, for a pair of lovely eyes; in short, for this lovely child, who perhaps will not listen to either of us."
"Alfred," cried Edouard, "is it decent to speak thus before her?"
"Bah! why not? For I do not conceal what I think! Ask Isaure; I have already told her that I adore her, that I am mad over her, that I wish to make her happy, that I can’t get her pretty little face out of my head.—Is it not true, Isaure, that I have told you all that?"