"What am I to do?" she thought, "I can't always wear a silk petticoat and a corset of white satin?"
She dressed herself notwithstanding, as last night, trusting to fate for the morrow. Hector had brought her writing materials, and she composed a tender adieu to her mamma.
"Admirably done!" cried Hector; "I have a peasant here who will carry it to Madame Deshoulieres—as for me, I shall go as usual to the Park d'Urtis at noon. When they see me they will have no suspicion. Your mamma goes away this evening, so that after to-day we shall have nothing to fear."
The lovers breakfasted in the spirits which only youth and love can furnish. Daphnè had herself gone to the fountain with the broken pitcher of the cottage. "You perceive, Hector," she said, on seating herself at the table, "that I have all the qualifications of a peasant girl."
"And all the gracefulness of a duchess," added the youth.
At one o'clock Hector had found his way to the meadow. Nobody was there. He opened the gate of the park, and before he had gone far was met by Madame Deshoulieres.
"My daughter!" she cried in an agitated voice; "You have not seen my daughter?"
"I was in hopes of seeing her here," replied Hector, with a start of well-acted surprise.
"She is gone off," resumed the mother; "gone off, like a silly creature, to some convent, disguised as a shepherdess—the foolish, senseless girl!—and I am obliged to depart this very day, so that it is impossible to follow her."
Hector continued to enact astonishment—he even offered his services to reclaim the fugitive—and, in short, exhibited such sorrow and disappointment, that the habitual quickness of Madame Deshoulieres was deceived. The Duchess, Amaranthe, and the mamma all thanked him for his sympathy; and he at last took his leave, with no doubt in his mind, that he was a consummate actor, and qualified for any plot whatever.