Genevieve kissed her. Esperance let her head fall on her friend's bosom, and raising her eyes to her face, said slowly, "But oh! I have not the courage."
Genevieve knelt beside the desk, and dipping the pen in the ink, put a fresh sheet of paper before Esperance, saying with a laugh, "Mlle., get on with your task. I am the school mistress to see that you write properly!"
The smile she brought to Esperance's lips chased away the nebulous uncertainties, and so she wrote her letter to her dear little "Countess-mama," as she had called her since her engagement. When her mother came with the philosopher's message and saw the letter, she was delighted with the phrasing and thanked her daughter warmly for the joy it would give her father.
"Ah! mama, I believe that I am the happiest of the three Darbois, dear ridiculous mama!" And she gave her a quick embrace.
Life was again travelling the simple, daily country round. It was after lunch, three days after Esperance had written her letter.
"Why so pensive, little daughter? Where were your thoughts?"
Esperance jumped up at this question from her father.
"I was dreaming. I am so sorry. I was in Belgium, near the Countess Styvens when my letter would be brought in to her, for, as nearly as I can make out, it ought to arrive to-day."
"No," said M. Darbois, "that letter has not been delivered; it is still in my desk."
Their faces expressed the great astonishment that they felt.