“Margot has often heard my father call me by that name; she remembers it, and is always repeating it.”

“Do you like living in this wild country?”

“Very much.  I was born here, and I like it.”

“But you have not always lived here?”

“No; my mother, who had lived in the city, placed me at school in her own country, in Dijon.  I received there the education of a young lady, though there is not much to show for it now.  I stayed there six years; then my mother died, my father fell ill, and I came home.”

“And did you not suffer from so sudden a change?”

“Not at all.  You see I am really by nature a country girl.  I wish you might not have more trouble than I had, in getting accustomed to your new way of living, in the chateau at Vivey.  But,” she added, going toward the fire, “I think they are harnessing the horse, and you must be hungry.  Your driver has already primed himself with some toast and white wine.  I will not offer you the same kind of breakfast.  I will get you some coffee and cream.”

He bent his head in acquiescence, and she brought him the coffee herself, helping him to milk and toasted bread.  He drank rapidly the contents of the cup, nibbled at a slice of toast, and then, turning to his hostess, said, with a certain degree of embarrassment: 

“There is nothing left for me to do, Mademoiselle, but to express my most heartfelt thanks for your kind hospitality.  It is a good omen for me to meet with such cordiality on my arrival in an unknown part of the country.  May I ask you one more question?” he continued, looking anxiously at her; “why do you think it will be so difficult for me to get accustomed to the life they lead here?”

“Why?” replied she, shaking her head, “because, to speak frankly, Monsieur, you do not give me the idea of having much feeling for the country.  You are not familiar with our ways; you will not be able to speak to the people in their language, and they will not understand yours—­you will be, in their eyes, ‘the city Monsieur,’ whom they will mistrust and will try to circumvent.  I should like to find that I am mistaken, but, at present, I have the idea that you will encounter difficulties down there of which you do not seem to have any anticipation—­”

She was intercepted by the entrance of the driver, who was becoming impatient.  The horse was in harness, and they were only waiting for M. de Buxieres.  Julien rose, and after awkwardly placing a piece of silver in the hand of La Guite, took leave of Reine Vincart, who accompanied him to the threshold.

“Thanks, once more, Mademoiselle,” murmured he, “and au revoir, since we shall be neighbors.”

He held out his hand timidly and she took it with frank cordiality.  Julien got into the cabriolet beside the driver, who began at once to belabor vigorously his mulish animal.

“Good journey and good luck, Monsieur,” cried Reine after him, and the vehicle sped joltingly away.