They had gone inside the cottage. It had certainly no great resemblance to a palace; but under these worn rafters—within these simple walls—by the side of that rustic chimney—poverty itself would be delightful, in its tidiness and simplicity, if shared with one you loved. Daphnè was a little disconcerted at first by the rough uneven floor, and by the smell of the evening meal—the toasted cheese, and the little oven where the loaf was baking; but, thanks to love—the enchanter, who has the power of transforming to what shape he likes, and can shed his magic splendours over any thing—Daphnè found the cottage charming, and she was pleased with the floor, and the toasted cheese, and the oven! The good old woman, on coming in from the garden, was astonished at the sight of Hector and Daphnè.
"What a pretty sister you have, Monsieur Hector!" she said.
"Listen to me, Babet—since your daughter married, nobody has used the little room up stairs. This young lady will occupy it for a few days; but you must keep it a secret from all the world—you understand."
"Don't be afraid, Master Hector—I am delighted to have so pretty a tenant for my daughter's room. The bed is rather small, but it is white and clean, and the sheets are fresh bleached. They smell of the daisies yet. You will sup with me, my fair young lady?" continued Babet, turning to Daphnè; "my dishes are only pewter, but there is such a flavour in my simple fare—my vegetables and fruits—I can't account for it, except it be the blessing of heaven."
Babet spread a tablecloth like snow, and laid some dishes of fruit upon the table. Hector took a tender farewell of Daphnè, and kissed her hand at least a dozen times. At last he tore himself away, with a promise that he would be with her at daybreak next morning.
CHAPTER V.
Daphnè hardly slept all night in her chamber. She was disturbed by many thoughts, and became alarmed at the step she had taken. At earliest dawn she threw open her window. The first sun-rays, reflected on a thousand dewdrops on the trees; the chirping of the birds, which already began their matin song; the joyous voice of the cock, which crowed in a most satisfactory and majestic manner in the paddock of her hostess; all these sights and sounds, to which she was so little accustomed, restored her serenity of mind once more. She dwelt more on the attractions of her love—so adventurous, so romantic. Love's ways, like those of wickedness, are strewed at first with roses, and Daphnè was only at the entrance of the path.
While she was repelling from her heart the miserable fancies that had crowded on her at night, she all of a sudden perceived Hector by the whitethorn hedge.
"Welcome! welcome!" she cried, "you come to me with the sun."
"How lovely you are this morning!" said Hector to her, with a look of admiration which there needed no physiognomist to discover was profoundly real. She looked at herself when he spoke, and perceived she was but half dressed. She threw herself on the foot of her bed.