“You are excused, Monsieur.  There is no need of an introduction to enter La Thuiliere.  Besides, I suppose that the motive which has brought you here can only be a proper one.”

While thus speaking, she shook her skirt down, and without any affectation buttoned up her camisole.

“Certainly, Mademoiselle,” faltered Julien, “it is a most serious and respectable motive that causes me to wish for an interview, and—­if—­I do not disturb you—­”

“Not in the least, Monsieur; but, if you wish to speak with me, it is unnecessary for you to remain standing.  Allow me to fetch you a chair.”

She went into the house, leaving the young man overwhelmed with the coolness of his reception; a few minutes later she reappeared, bringing a chair, which she placed under the tree.  “Sit here, you will be in the shade.”

She seated herself on the same step as before, leaning her back against the wall, and her head on her hand.

“I am ready to listen to you,” she said.

Julien, much less under his own control than she, discovered that his mission was more difficult than he had imagined it would be; he experienced a singular amount of embarrassment in unfolding his subject; and was obliged to have recourse to prolonged inquiries concerning the health of Monsieur Vincart.

“He is still in the same condition,” said Reine, “neither better nor worse, and, with the illness which afflicts him, the best I can hope for is that he may remain in that condition.  But,” continued she, with a slight inflection of irony; “doubtless it is not for the purpose of inquiring after my father’s health that you have come all the way from Vivey?”

“That is true, Mademoiselle,” replied he, coloring.  “What I have to speak to you about is a very delicate matter.  You will excuse me, therefore, if I am somewhat embarrassed.  I beg of you, Mademoiselle, to listen to me with indulgence.”

“What can he be coming to?” thought Reine, wondering why he made so many preambles before beginning.  And, at the same time, her heart began to beat violently.

Julien took the course taken by all timid people after meditating for a long while on the best way to prepare the young girl for the communication he had taken upon himself to make—­he lost his head and inquired abruptly: 

“Mademoiselle Reine, do you not intend to marry?”

Reine started, and gazed at him with a frightened air.

“I!” exclaimed she, “Oh, I have time enough and I am not in a hurry.”  Then, dropping her eyes:  “Why do you ask that?”

“Because I know of some one who loves you and who would be glad to marry you.”

She became very pale, took up one of the empty pods, twisted it nervously around her finger without speaking.

“Some one belonging to our neighborhood?” she faltered, after a few moments’ silence.

“Yes; some one whom you know, and who is not a recent arrival here.  Some one who possesses, I believe, sterling qualities sufficient to make a good husband, and means enough to do credit to the woman who will wed him.  Doubtless you have already guessed to whom I refer?”