“Well, you have no reason to be discontented with the result of the enterprise.  You are the best friends in the world.”

“Yes, certainly, pretty well, but not quite satisfactory.  There is nothing more amiable or more charming than Miss Percival, and really it is very good of me to acknowledge it; for, between ourselves, she makes me play an ungrateful and ridiculous role, a role which is quite unsuited to my age.  I am, you will admit, of the lover’s age, and not of that of the confidant.”

“Of the confidant!”

“Yes, my dear fellow, of the confidant!  That is my occupation in this house.  You were looking at us just now.  Oh, I have very good eyes; you were looking at us.  Well, do you know what we were talking about?  Of you, my dear fellow, of you, of you again, of nothing but you.  And it is the same thing every evening; there is no end to the questions: 

“’You were brought up together?  You took lessons together from the Abbe Constantin?’

“‘Will he soon be Captain?  And then?’

“‘Commandant.’

“‘And then?’

“‘Colonel, etc., etc., etc.’

“Ah!  I can tell you, my friend Jean, if you liked, you might dream a very delicious dream.”

Jean was annoyed, almost angry.  Paul was much astonished at this sudden attack of irritability.

“What is the matter?  Have I said anything—­”

“I beg your pardon; I was wrong.  But how could you take such an absurd idea into your head?”

“Absurd!  I don’t see it.  I have entertained the absurd idea on my own account.”

“Ah! you—­”

“Why ‘Ah! you?’ If I have had it you may have it; you are better worth it than I am.”

“Paul, I entreat you!”

Jean’s discomfort was evident.

“We will not speak of it again; we will not speak of it again.  What I wanted to say, in short, is that Miss Percival perhaps thinks I am agreeable; but as to considering me seriously, that little person will never commit such a folly.  I must fall back upon Mrs. Scott, but without much confidence.  You see, Jean, I shall amuse myself in this house, but I shall make nothing out of it.”

Paul de Lavardens did fall back upon Mrs. Scott, but the next day was surprised to stumble upon Jean, who had taken to placing himself very regularly in Mrs. Scott’s particular circle, for like Bettina she had also her little court.  But what Jean sought there was a protection, a shelter, a refuge.

The day of that memorable conversation on marriage without love, Bettina had also, for the first time, felt suddenly awake in her that necessity of loving which sleeps, but not very profoundly, in the hearts of all young girls.  The sensation had been the same, at the same moment, in the soul of Bettina and the soul of Jean.  He, terrified, had cast it violently from him.  She, on the contrary, had yielded, in all the simplicity of her perfect innocence, to this flood of emotion and of tenderness.