She was bareheaded, and wore a striped skirt and a white jacket fitted to her waist.  The checkered shadows cast by the tree made spots of light and darkness over her face and her uncovered neck, the top button of her camisole being unfastened on account of the heat.  De Buxieres had been perfectly well recognized by her, but an emotion, at least equal to that experienced by the young man, had transfixed her to the spot, and a subtle feminine instinct had urged her to continue her employment, in order to hide the sudden trembling of her fingers.  During the last month, ever since the adventure in the hut, she had thought often of Julien; and the remembrance of the audacious kiss which the young de Buxieres had so impetuously stolen from her neck, invariably brought the flush of shame to her brow.  But, although she was very indignant at the fiery nature of his caress, as implying a want of respect little in harmony with Julien’s habitual reserve, she was astonished at herself for not being still more angry.  At first, the affront put upon her had roused a feeling of indignation, but now, when she thought of it, she felt only a gentle embarrassment, and a soft beating of the heart.  She began to reflect that to have thus broken loose from all restraint before her, this timid youth must have been carried away by an irresistible burst of passion, and any woman, however high-minded she may be, will forgive such violent homage rendered to the sovereign power of her beauty.  Besides his feeding of her vanity, another independent and more powerful motive predisposed her to indulgence:  she felt a tender and secret attraction toward Monsieur de Buxieres.  This healthy and energetic girl had been fascinated by the delicate charm of a nature so unlike her own in its sensitiveness and disposition to self-blame.  Julien’s melancholy blue eyes had, unknown to himself, exerted a magnetic influence on Reine’s dark, liquid orbs, and, without endeavoring to analyze the sympathy that drew her toward a nature refined and tender even to weakness, without asking herself where this unreflecting instinct might lead her, she was conscious of a growing sentiment toward him, which was not very much unlike love itself.

Julien de Buxieres’s mood was not sufficiently calm to observe anything, or he would immediately have perceived the impression that his sudden appearance had produced upon Reine Vincart.  As soon as he found himself within a few steps of the young girl, he saluted her awkwardly, and she returned his bow with marked coldness.  Extremely disconcerted at this reception, he endeavored to excuse himself for having invaded her dwelling in so unceremonious a manner.

“I am all the more troubled,” added he, humbly, “that after what has happened, my visit must appear to you indiscreet, if not improper.”

Reine, who had more quickly recovered her self-possession, pretended not to understand the unwise allusion that had escaped the lips of her visitor.  She rose, pushed away with her foot the stalks and pods, which encumbered the passage, and replied, very shortly: