“But what?” said Henri, now perceiving that his sister had something on her mind—­something that she wished to say to him; “but what, dearest Agatha?”

“I don’t want to banish him from the house, Henri; but I wish he would not return just at present; but you haven’t answered my question—­you haven’t told me whether you expect him.”

“I think he will return; but he did not himself say exactly when.  I am sorry to hear what you say, Agatha—­very sorry—­I thought you and Adolphe were great friends.  I was even a little jealous,” added he, laughing, “at the close alliance between you, and I thought of getting up a little separate party of my own with Marie.”

“Don’t separate yourself from me, Henri!” said she; “don’t let us be separated in anything, even in thought; not but that I should be delighted to see a dearer friendship between you and Marie, even than that between Marie and myself; but don’t plan any separate alliance for me.  I hope you have not been doing so—­tell me, Henri, that you have not.”  And then she added, blushing deeply up to her pale forehead, “You have not proposed to Adolphe that I should be his wife?”

“No, Agatha, I have not proposed it to him; I should not have dreamt of doing so, without knowing that it would not be disagreeable to you.”

“There’s my own dear brother!  My own Henri!” said she, going over to him, caressing him, and kissing his forehead.

“I will never make an offer of your hand to any one Agatha; you shall choose for yourself; I will never cause you sorrow in that way:  but I will own, dearest, that I have wished you should marry Adolphe, and I have also fancied that you loved him.”

“No, Henri, no, I do not love him—­I can never love him—­that is, as my husband.  I do love him as your friend.  I will continue to love him as such, as long as he remains your friend.”

“I fancied also,” continued he; “nay, I did more than fancy—­I am sure he loves you—­is it not so?”

“He has never told me so,” said she, again blushing; “it is that he may not tell me so, that I now say that I hope he is not returning.  Oh, Henri, my own dearest brother, do not let him come to Durbelliere; prevent him in some way; go to him for a while; make some plan with him; and give me warning when he is coming, and I will be at Clisson with Marie.”

“Will it not be better for both of you, Agatha, that you should understand each other?  I know he loves you, though he has not told me so.  You must tell him, kindly, that you cannot return his affection:  you cannot always run away from him.”

“He will forget me soon.  He will, at any rate, forget his love, when he finds that I avoid his company; but, Henri, if he formally asks my hand, and is refused, that he will neither forget nor forgive.”

“He must take his chance, dearest, like other men.”

“But he isn’t like other men, Henri.  You know he is—­he is rather impatient of refusal; he could not bear as well as some men any mortification to his pride.”