"You can be quite easy, grandmamma, I never lose my head."

II.

IN the evening as they were driving through Pont-sur-Loire on their way back to Bracieux, M. de Rueille said to Denyse:

"There is no mistake about it, Bijou, my dear with you there is no chance of pa.s.sing by unnoticed. Oh, dear, no!"

She glanced at the foot-pa.s.sengers, who were turning round to look at her with intense curiosity, and answered:

"It's my pink dress that--"

"No, it is not your dress, it is you yourself."

Her large violet eyes grew larger with astonishment as she asked:

"I, myself? But why?"

"Oh, Bijou, my dear, it is not at all nice of you to act like that with your poor old cousin."

"You think I am acting?" she exclaimed, looking more and more astounded.

"Well, it appears like it to me; it is impossible for you not to know how pretty you are. In the first place, you have eyes, and then you are told often enough for--"

"I am told?--by whom?"

"By everyone. Why, even I, although I am nearly your uncle and a settled-down respectable sort of man."

"'Nearly my uncle.' No--considering that Bertrade is my first cousin; and, as to the rest--" She stopped abruptly, and then finished with a laugh. "You flatter yourself!"

"Alas, no! I shall soon be forty-two."

She looked at him in surprise.

"Oh, well! you don't look it."

"Thank you! There now! Do you see how all the natives are gazing at you? I can a.s.sure you, Bijou, that when I come to do any shopping alone, they do not watch me so eagerly."

"I tell you it is this pink dress that astonishes them."

"But why should they be astonished? They are accustomed to that, because you often come to Pont-sur-Loire, and you always wear pink."

Ever since she had left off her mourning for her parents, who had died four years ago, Denyse had adopted pink as her only colour for all her dresses. The reason was, she said, because her grandmother preferred seeing her dressed thus. Anyhow, this pink, a very pale, soft shade, like that of the petals of a rose just as it begins to fall, suited her to perfection, as it was almost exactly the same delicate colour as her skin.

She always wore it, and when the weather was cold or gloomy she would put on a long, gathered cloak, which covered her entirely, and on taking this dark wrap off, she would come out, looking as fresh and sweet as a flower, and seem to brighten up everything around her.

Her dresses were always of batiste, muslin, or some soft woollen material, comparatively inexpensive. The greatest luxury to which she treated herself now and again was a _taffetas_ or surah silk. And then, nothing could be more simple than the way these dresses were made--always the same little gathered blouses and straight skirts, and never any tr.i.m.m.i.n.g whatever, except, perhaps, in the winter, a narrow edging of fur.

"Yes, that's quite true," she said thoughtfully, "I am always in pink.

You don't like that?"

"Not like it? I--good heavens!--why, I think it is perfectly charming!

I tell you, Bijou, that if I were not an old man, I should make love to you all the time!"

"You are not an old man!"

"Very many thanks! If, however, you do not look upon me as quite an old man--which, by the bye, is certainly debatable--I am at any rate a married man."

"Yes, that's true, and so much the better for you, for there is nothing more stupid and tiresome than men who are always making love."

"Well, then, you must know a terrible number of people who are stupid and tiresome."

"Why?"

"Because everyone makes love to you--more or less!"

"Not at all! Why, just think! I was brought up in the most isolated way, like a veritable savage. When papa and mamma were living, they were always ill, and I was shut up with them, and never saw anyone. It is scarcely four years since I came to live with grandmamma, where I do see people."

"Oh, yes; plenty of them, and no mistake!"

"You speak as though that annoyed you?"

She glanced sideways at Rueille, her eyes shining beneath her drooping eyelids, whilst he replied, with a touch of irritation in his voice in spite of himself:

"Annoyed me, but why should it? Are your affairs any business of mine; have I any voice in the matter of anything that concerns you?"

"Which means that if you had a voice in the matter--?"

"Ah, there would certainly be many changes, and many reforms that I should make."

"For instance?"

"Well, I should not allow you, if I were in your grandmamma's place, to be quite as affable and as ready to welcome everyone; I should want to keep you rather more for myself, and prevent your letting strangers have so much of you."

"Yes," she said, with a pensive expression, "perhaps you are right."

"And all the more so because we shall have you to ourselves for so short a time now."

The large candid eyes, with their sweet expression, were fixed on Paul de Rueille as he continued:

"You will be marrying soon? You will be leaving us?"

Bijou laughed. "How you arrange things. There is no question, as far as I know, of my marriage."

"There is nothing definite--no; at least, I do not think so. But, practically, it is the one subject in question, and grandmamma thinks of nothing else."