Man. How was it you did not follow her, as usual?
Alain. Oh, sir, she often goes without me. She's a capital rider, and she says, to be alone sometimes, makes her feel more self-dependent, and you know, sir, it won't do to contradict her, for though a charitable, kind-hearted, young lady, she's rather wilful, and terribly proud.
Man. Somewhat, perhaps, but her general manner appears to me more the result of a sad and gloomy thoughtfulness, than mere pride.
Alain. Ah, well, I suppose, sir, that, like most young ladies of her age, she's a little bit in love.
Man. In love?
Alain. Yes, sir, Monsieur de Bevannes has been paying her great attention for some time past, and it would be a grand match, for, after Monsieur Laroque, he is the richest gentleman in the neighborhood, and of excellent family. Ah, sir, what a pity it is you are not rich.
Man. Why so, Alain?
Alain. Because—no matter. Have you any orders for me, sir?
Man. Merely to have a good look for that letter when you go to my room.
Alain. I certainly will, sir.