Isaure listened to the stranger with amazement, not daring to interrupt him; he sat for some moments as if absorbed by the memories which had awakened in his mind; then he let his head droop upon his breast, and continued:
"Yes! all that has vanished! Love, friendship, wealth! I shall never know any of them more; I am alone, destitute, and I have not a single friend!"
The stranger’s tone became slow and melancholy as he uttered these words. Isaure felt deeply moved; she rose, walked toward the stranger, who no longer terrified her, and said to him with touching concern:
"Have you been very unfortunate?"
The stranger raised his head, gazed earnestly at her, and exclaimed:
"Why, this is most extraordinary! I had not noticed it before so strongly as I do now!"
"Noticed what, monsieur?" said Isaure.
"Nothing; oh! nothing. It is the effect of my recollections, no doubt. What in the deuce set me to thinking about all that? No, henceforth there is but a single sentiment that can revive my heart; but I feel that that sentiment may still afford me most delicious enjoyment."
Once more the stranger’s eyes gleamed; they seemed alight with savage joy. Isaure moved away from him, and quickly resumed her former seat, while her hand rested on Vaillant’s neck.
"My child," continued the vagabond, after drinking a glass of wine, "I was saying that the two young men who come to see you so often are in love with you. There is no harm in that, but you must realize that it is not to see this valley or to gaze into the lovely eyes of your goats, that these two young men from Paris rise so early in the morning! But I have reasons of my own for being curious to know which of the two you prefer—unless indeed you love them both, for such things have been seen! But no, no; I think that you are not sufficiently advanced for that. Come, speak, answer."