"Do you know her well?"
Leonor smiled. "Am I not the nephew and lieutenant of her architect? The rule, then, would demand that Marguerite should give up love; and the rule further demands, Mademoiselle, that you should begin to think of it."
"The rule is the rule," said Rose sententiously, suppressing the shouts of laughter that exploded silently in her heart.
"The rule's not so stupid after all," she thought. "I don't ask anything better than to obey it...."
At this moment M. Hervart came face to face with them at the turn of a path. Rose welcomed him with a happy smile, a smile of delicious frankness.
"Good," thought M. Hervart, "he isn't my rival yet. My rôle for the moment is to act the part of the man who is sure of himself, the man who possesses, dominates, the lord who is above all changes and chances...."
And he began to talk of his stay at Robinvast and of the pleasure he found in the midst of this rich disorderly scene of nature.
"But you," he said, "have come to put it in order. You have come to whiten these walls, scrape off this moss and ivy, cut clearings through these dark masses, and you will make M. Des Boys a present of a brand-new castle with a charming and equally brand-new park."
"Who's going to touch my ivy?" exclaimed Rose, indignantly.
"Why should it be touched," said Leonor. "Isn't ivy the glory of the walls of Tourlaville? Ivy—why, it's the only architectural beauty that can't be bought. At Barnavast, which is in a state of ruin, we always respect it when the wall can be consolidated from inside. To my mind, restoration means giving back to a monument the appearance that the centuries would have given it if it had been well looked after. Restoration doesn't mean making a thing look new; it doesn't consist in giving an old man the hair, beard, complexion and teeth of a youth; it consists in bringing a dying man back to life and giving him the health and beauty of his age."