I bowed, and rode up beside her. And we let the men go onward, dropping together to the place I had left in the rear.
"Monsieur," she said after a little, "I have been trying to say what I want all the morning. I want you to forgive me for the cruel words I used to you last night. I—I never meant them." She was flushed and trembling as she spoke, and I saw the tears in her eyes. I lifted my hat at her words.
"Mademoiselle, after all you were right. I am but Bertrand Broussel, a citizen of Paris, as you know, and you——"
"Oh yes; I know all that; but, oh! I feel hot with shame when I think of my words. Monsieur, say you forgive me!"
"With all my heart, mademoiselle! Think no more of it, I pray you." And then, to change the subject, I pointed to a grove of trees in front of us. "There, mademoiselle, is where we halt for an hour or so. What say you to a race there?"
"Are you not afraid of that?"
"I will risk it," I said. And, with a laugh, she touched her Norman with the whip, and I kept Lizette pounding after her, until she pulled up, flushed and hot, near the trees, beside which the Mable purled past.
"Beaten again," she said as I came up.
"It is my fate." And, pulling up, I pointed to the river. "Do you remember this river, mademoiselle?"
"The Mable!" And she shuddered. "But surely it was not here that we crossed on that awful night?"