“You are not saying anything, Monsieur de Buxieres; do you regret having come to this fete?”
“Regret it, Mademoiselle?” returned he; “it is a long time since I have had so pleasant a day, and I thank you, for it is to you I owe it.”
“To me? You are joking. It is the good-humor of the people, the spring sunshine, and the pure air of the forest that you must thank. I have no part in it.”
“You are everything in it, on the contrary,” said he, tenderly. “Before I knew you, I had met with country people, seen the sun and trees, and so on, and nothing made any impression on me. But, just now, when you were singing over there, I felt gladdened and inspired; I felt the beauty of the woods, I sympathized with these good people, and these grand trees, all these things among which you live so happily. It is you who have worked this miracle. Ah! you are well named. You are truly the fairy of the feast, the queen of the woods!”
Astonished at the enthusiasm of her companion, Reine looked at him sidewise, half closing her eyes, and perceived that he was altogether transformed. He appeared to have suddenly thawed. He was no longer the awkward, sickly youth, whose every movement was paralyzed by timidity, and whose words froze on his tongue; his slender frame had become supple, his blue eyes enlarged and illuminated; his delicate features expressed refinement, tenderness, and passion. The young girl was moved and won by so much emotion, the first that Julien had ever manifested toward her. Far from being offended at this species of declaration, she replied, gayly:
“As to the queen of the woods working miracles, I know none so powerful as these flowers.”
She unfastened the bouquet of white starry woodruff from her corsage, and handed them over to him in their envelope of green leaves.
“Do you know them?” said she; “see how sweet they smell! And the odor increases as they wither.”