"How can he amuse himself?" asked Jeannette. "You are telling stories. Jeannet is in the wood of Montreux, where he has too much to do, in clearing out the forest, to think of anything else; besides, he is not naturally very gay, poor boy!"
"Poor boy! Don't pity him so much; he would laugh if he heard you. Clearing the wood of Montreux—he? It is a mere pretence to hide his game; he wishes to be more at ease to court Solange Luguet.
"M. Isidore," cried Jeannette, starting up, pale with anger, "keep on speaking ill of Jean-Louis—he is a man, and can defend himself; but to speak thus of my cousin Solange is a cowardly falsehood!"
"How pretty you look!" said Isidore insolently. "Anger is so becoming to you, I would always like to see you so, if it were not so painful to me to excite you thus. No, Jeanne, I do not lie. M. Jean-Louis, who owes his life to your parents, and whom you call brother, at this very instant ridicules the whole household. He is going to marry Solange, and I don't believe he will even inform you of it."
"Who told you so?" asked Jeannette, amazed. "People will gossip so."
"I had it from Pierre Luguet. It is true it is common talk, but I would not have believed it, if Solange's own brother had not said it."
"Can you swear it to me?" said she.
"I can swear to it positively. Ask Pierre; you see I am not afraid of being proved a liar."
"I believe you," said Jeanne, who sought in vain to keep back the tears that filled her eyes. "Never, I confess, would I have believed that of Jean-Louis."
"You understand now why I did not care to start in search of that gentleman. I am indignant at his conduct; it is frightful ingratitude. To think that he had here a father, a mother, a sister, and that he abandons all to go off and be secretly married! Is it not proof in itself that he renounces and despises you?"