and, in case of alarm, the wood offered a secure retreat.  The young man had had enough experience in gallant strategies to seize the advantage of this position, and wended his steps in that direction while continuing to converse.  It may be that instinct which, in a critical situation, makes us follow mechanically an unknown impulse; it may be that the same idea of prudence had also struck her, for Madame de Bergenheim walked beside him.

“If you could understand what I suffered,” said he, “when I found that you had left Paris!  I could not discover at first where you had gone; some spoke of Corandeuil, others of Italy.  I thought, from this hasty departure and the care you took to conceal your abiding-place, that you were fleeing from me.  Oh! tell me that I was mistaken; or, if it is true that you wished to separate yourself from me, say that this cruel resolve had left your mind, and that you will pardon me for following you!  You will pardon me, will you not?  If I trouble or annoy you, lay the blame entirely upon my love, which I can not restrain, and which drives me at times to do the most extravagant things; call it reckless, insane love, if you will; but believe it to be true and devoted!”

Clemence replied to this passionate tirade by simply shaking her head as a child does who hears the buzzing of a wasp and fears its sting; then, as they reached the bench, she said with affected surprise: 

“You have made a mistake, this is not your road; you should have gone over the bridge.”

There was a little palpable insincerity in these words; for if the road which they had taken did not lead to the bridge, neither did it lead to the chateau, and the mistake, if there was one, was mutual.

“Listen to me, I beg of you,” replied the lover, with ’a supplicating glance, “I have so many things to say to you!  I beg of you, grant me one moment.”

“Afterward, will you obey me?”

“Only a few words, and I will then do all that you wish.”

She hesitated a moment; then, her conscience doubtless lulled by this promise, she seated herself and made a gesture for M. de Gerfaut to do likewise.  The young man did not make her repeat this invitation, but hypocritically seated himself on the farther end of the seat.

“Now, talk reasonably,” she said, in a calm tone.  “I suppose that you are on your way to Germany or Switzerland, and as you passed near me you wished to favor me with a call.  I ought to be proud of this mark of respect from a man so celebrated as you are, although you are rather hiding your light under this garb.  We are not very strict as to dress in the country, but, really, yours is quite unceremonious.  Tell me, where did you find that headdress?”

These last words were spoken with the careless, mocking gayety of a young girl.

Gerfaut smiled, but he took off his cap.  Knowing the importance that women attach to little things, and what an irreparable impression an ugly cravat or unblacked boots might produce in the most affecting moments, he did not wish to compromise himself by a ridiculous head-gear.  He passed his hand through his hair, pushing it back from his large, broad forehead, and said softly: