“I can scarcely read any better than Patience,” I added, “and I only wish you found as much pleasure in my society as in his; but it hardly appears so, cousin, for since I came here . . .”

We were then leaving the table, and I was rejoicing at the prospect of being alone with her at last, so that I might talk more freely, when on going into the drawing-room we found M. de la Marche there.  He had just arrived, and was in the act of entering by the opposite door.  In my heart I wished him at the devil.

M. de la March was one of the fashionable young nobles of the day.  Smitten with the new philosophy, devoted to Voltaire, a great admirer of Franklin, more well-meaning than intelligent, understanding the oracles less than he desired or pretended to understand them; a pretty poor logician, since he found his ideas much less excellent and his political hopes much less sweet on the day that the French nation took it into its head to realize them; for the rest, full of fine sentiments, believing himself much more sanguine and romantic than he was in reality; rather more faithful to the prejudices of caste and considerably more sensitive to the opinion of the world than he flattered and prided himself on being—­such was the man.  His face was certainly handsome, but I found it excessively dull; for I had conceived the most ridiculous animosity for him.  His polished manners seemed to me abjectly servile with Edmee.  I should have blushed to imitate them, and yet my sole aim was to surpass him in the little services he rendered her.  We went out into the park.  This was very large, and through it ran the Indre, here merely a pretty stream.  During our walk he made himself agreeable in a thousand ways; not a violet did he see but he must pluck it to offer to my cousin.  But, when we arrived at the banks of the stream, we found that the plank which usually enabled one to cross at this particular spot had been broken and washed away by the storms of a few days before.  Without asking permission, I immediately took Edmee in my arms, and quietly walked through the stream.  The water came up to my waist, but I carried my cousin at arm’s length so securely and skilfully that she did not wet a single ribbon.  M. de la Marche, unwilling to appear more delicate than myself, did not hesitate to wet his fine clothes and follow me, though with some rather poor efforts the while to force a laugh.  However, though he had not any burden to carry, he several times stumbled over the stones which covered the bed of the river, and rejoined us only with great difficulty.  Edmee was far from laughing.  I believe that this proof of my strength and daring, forced on her in spite of herself, terrified her as an evidence of the love she had stirred in me.  She even appeared to be annoyed; and, as I set her down gently on the bank, said: 

“Bernard, I must request you never to play such a prank again.”

“That is all very well,” I said; “you would not be angry if it were the other fellow.”