Julien had carried the bouquet to his lips, and was inhaling slowly the delicate perfume.

“Our woodsmen,” she continued, “make with this plant a broth which cures from ill effects of either cold or heat as if by enchantment; they also infuse it into white wine, and convert it into a beverage which they call May wine, and which is very intoxicating.”

Julien was no longer listening to these details.  He kept his eyes steadily fixed on Mademoiselle Vincart, and continued to inhale rapturously the bouquet, and to experience a kind of intoxication.

“Let me keep these flowers,” he implored, in a choking voice.

“Certainly,” replied she, gayly; “keep them, if it will give you pleasure.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, hiding them in his bosom.

Reine was surprised at his attaching such exaggerated importance to so slight a favor, and a sudden flush overspread her cheeks.  She almost repented having given him the flowers when she saw what a tender reception he had given them, so she replied, suggestively: 

“Do not thank me; the gift is not significant.  Thousands of similar flowers grow in the forest, and one has only to stoop and gather them.”

He dared not reply that this bouquet, having been worn by her, was worth much more to him than any other, but he thought it, and the thought aroused in his mind a series of new ideas.  As Reine had so readily granted this first favor, was she not tacitly encouraging him to ask for others?  Was he dealing with a simple, innocent girl, or a village coquette, accustomed to be courted?  And on this last supposition should he not pass for a simpleton in the eyes of this experienced girl, if he kept himself at too great a distance.  He remembered the advice of Claudet concerning the method of conducting love-affairs smoothly with certain women of the country.  Whether she was a coquette or not, Reine had bewitched him.  The charm had worked more powerfully still since he had been alone with her in this obscure hut, where the cooing of the wild pigeons faintly reached their ears, and the penetrating odors of the forest pervaded their nostrils.  Julien’s gaze rested lovingly on Reine’s wavy locks, falling heavily over her neck, on her half-covered eyes with their luminous pupils full of golden specks of light, on her red lips, on the two little brown moles spotting her somewhat decollete neck.  He thought her adorable, and was dying to tell her so; but when he endeavored to formulate his declaration, the words stuck fast in his throat, his veins swelled, his throat became dry, his head swam.  In this disorder of his faculties he brought to mind the recommendation of Claudet:  “One arm round the waist, two sounding kisses, and the thing is done.”  He rose abruptly, and went up to the young girl: 

“Since you have given me these flowers,” he began, in a husky voice, “will you also, in sign of friendship, give me your hand, as you gave it to Claudet?”