On Friday, the 24th of June, at four o’clock, Jean arrived at the castle.  Bettina received him alone, looking quite vexed.

“How annoying it is,” said she, “my sister is not well; a little headache, nothing of consequence, it will be gone by tomorrow; but I dare not ride with you alone.  In America I might; but here, it would not do, would it?”

“Certainly not,” replied Jean.

“I must send you back, and I am so sorry.”

“And so am I—­I am very sorry to be obliged to go, and to lose this last day, which I had hoped to pass with you.  However, since it must be, I will come tomorrow to inquire after your sister.”

“She will see you herself, to-morrow; I repeat it is nothing serious.  But do not run away in such a hurry, pray; will you not spare me a little quarter of an hour’s conversation?  I want to speak to you; sit down there, and now listen to me well.  My sister and I had intended this evening, after dinner, to blockade you into a little corner of the drawing-room, and then she meant to tell you what I am going to try to say for us both.”

“But I am a little nervous.  Do not laugh; it is a very serious matter.  We wish to thank you for having been, ever since our arrival here, so good to us both.”

“Oh, Miss Percival, pray, it is I who—­”

“Oh, do not interrupt me, you will quite confuse me.  I do not know how to get through with it.  I maintain, besides, that the thanks are due from us, not from you.  We arrived here two strangers.  We have been fortunate enough immediately to find friends.  Yes, friends.  You have taken us by the hand, you have led us to our farmers, to our keepers; while your godfather took us to his poor—­and everywhere you were so much beloved that from their confidence in you, they began, on your recommendation, to like us a little.  You are adored about here; do you know that?”

“I was born here—­all these good people have known me from my infancy, and are grateful to me for what my grandfather and father did for them; and then I am of their race, the race of the peasants; my great-grandfather was a laborer at Bargecourt, a village two miles from here.”

“Oh! oh! you appear very proud of that!”

“Neither proud nor ashamed.”

“I beg your pardon, you made a little movement of pride.  Well, I can tell you that my mother’s great-grandfather was a farmer in Brittany.  He went to Canada at the end of the last century, when Canada was still French.  And you love very much this place where you were born?”

“Very much.  Perhaps I shall soon be obliged to leave it.”

“Why?”

“When I get promotion, I shall have to exchange into another regiment, and I shall wander from garrison to garrison; but certainly, when I am an old commandant or old colonel, on half-pay, I shall come back, and live and die here, in the little house that was my father’s.”

“Always quite alone?”