The said Isidore immediately appeared—a tall young man, well made, and dressed in the latest Parisian style. His hair was elaborately curled, and his cravat, gloves, and shoes were so elegant he looked as though he had just been taken out of a bandbox. He made a low bow to Jeannette, and paid her a compliment such as we read in books.
Jeannette, much amazed, rose without speaking, and, as her astonished look showed she did not recognize him in the least, mademoiselle laughingly relieved her embarrassment.
"What!" said she, "you don't remember Isidore Perdreau, the son of Master Perdreau, my father's notary, and the playmate of your childhood?"
"You must excuse me," said Jeanne, "but he is so much changed."
"In size, perhaps," said M. Isidore, "but not in beauty, as you most certainly are."
"He has returned from Paris, and will in future live at Val-Saint. It is very good in him," said mademoiselle, "for his life will be very different; but his father wishes to associate him with himself in business."
"To all true hearts one's native place is dear," replied M. Isidore, placing his hand on his waistcoat.
"Don't you remember the young girl by Jeannette?" asked mademoiselle.
"Not precisely," he replied.
"I am the sister of Pierre Luguet, with whom you used to go hunting for blackbirds."