"I know of none," said Julia.

"Mon Dieu!" said the Count de Moras in a tone of conciliation, "right or wrong, it is quite the fashion, nowadays, to spoil children."

"It is a criminal fashion," said Lucan. "Formerly their parents whipped them, and thus made men of them."

"When a man has such a disposition as that," said Julia, "he does not deserve to have any children--and he has none!" she added with a direct look that further aggravated the unkind and even cruel intention of her words.

Monsieur de Lucan turned very pale. Clotilde's eyes filled with tears.

Julia, embarra.s.sed at her triumph, left the room. Her mother, after remaining for a few moments, her face covered with her hands, rose from the table and went to join her.

"Now, _mon cher_," said Monsieur de Moras as soon as he found himself alone with Lucan, "what the mischief took place between you two last night? You did tell me something about it this morning, but I was so much absorbed in my own selfish preoccupations, that I paid no attention to it.

But tell me, what did take place between you?"

"Nothing serious. Only I was able to satisfy myself that she had not yet forgiven my occupying a place which, according to her ideas, should never have been filled."

"What would you advise me to do, George?" rejoined Monsieur de Moras. "I am ready to do whatever you say.

"My dear friend," said Lucan, laying gently his hands upon Pierre's shoulders, "don't be offended, but life in common, under such conditions, becomes a very difficult matter. It is best not to wait until some irreparable scene. In Paris we will be able to see each other without difficulty. I advise you to take her away."

"Suppose she is not willing."

"I should speak firmly," said Lucan, looking him straight in the eyes; "I have some work to do this evening; it happens well and will give you a good opportunity. In the meantime, _au revoir_."

Monsieur de Lucan locked himself up in his library. An hour later, Clotilde came to join him.

He could see that she had wept a great deal; but she held out her forehead to him with her sweetest smile. While he was kissing her, she murmured simply and in a whisper:

"Forgive her for my sake!"

And the charming creature withdrew in haste to hide her emotions.

The next morning, Monsieur de Lucan, who, as usual, had risen quite early, had been writing for some time near the library window, which opened at quite a moderate height on the garden. He was not a little surprised to see his step-daughter's face appear among the honeysuckle vines that crept over the iron trellis of the balcony:

"Monsieur," she said in her most melodious tone, "are you very busy?"

"Oh, not at all!" he replied, rising at the same time.

"It's because, you see, the weather is perfectly delightful," she said.

"Will you come and take a walk with me?"

"Of course I will."

"Well, come then. Good Heavens! how sweet this honeysuckle does smell!"

And she s.n.a.t.c.hed off a few flowers, which she threw to Lucan through the window, with a burst of laughter. He fastened them in his b.u.t.ton-hole, making the gesture of a man who understands nothing of what is going on, but who has no reason to be angry.

He found her in fresh morning costume, stamping upon the sand with her light and impatient foot.

"Monsieur de Lucan," she cries, gayly, "my mother wishes me to be amiable with you, my husband wishes it, Heaven wills it, too, I suppose; that's why I am willing also, and I a.s.sure you that I can be very amiable when I try. You'll see!"

"Is it possible?" said Lucan.

"You'll see, sir!" she replied, dropping him with all possible grace, a regular stage curtsey.

"And where are we going, pray, madam?"

"Wherever you like--through the woods, at random, if you please."

The wooded hills came so close to the chateau, that they bordered with a fringe of shade one side of the yard. Monsieur de Lucan and Julia took the first path that came in their way; but it was not long before Julia left the beaten road-way, to walk at hazard from tree to tree, wandering at random, beating the thickets with her cane, picking flowers or leaves, stopping in ecstasy before the luminous bands that striped here and there the mossy carpets, frankly intoxicated with movement, open air, sunshine, and youth. While walking, she cast to her companion words of pleasant fellowship, playful interpellation, childish jests, and caused the woods to ring again with the melody of her laughter.

In her admiration for the wild flowers, she had gradually collected a regular bundle, of which Monsieur de Lucan accepted the burden with cheerful resignation. Noticing that he was almost bending under the weight, she sat down upon the gnarled roots of an old oak, in order, she said, to make a selection among all this pell-mell. She then took upon her lap the bundles of gra.s.s and flowers, and began throwing out everything that appeared to her of inferior quality. She handed over to Lucan, seated a step or two from her, whatever she thought fit to retain for the final bouquet, justifying gravely her decision upon each plant that she examined:

"You, my dear, you are too thin! you're pretty, but too short! you, you smell bad! you, you look stupid."

Then, turning abruptly into another train of thought, which was not at first without causing some uneasiness to Monsieur de Lucan:

"It was you, wasn't it, who advised Pierre to speak to me with firmness?"

"I?" said Lucan, "what an idea!"

"It must have been you. You," she went on again, speaking to her flowers, "you look sickly, good-night! Yes, it must have been you. One might think you quite meek, to look at you, whereas, on the contrary, you are very harsh, very tyrannical."

"Ferocious!" said Lucan.

"At any rate, I have no fault to find with you for that. You were right; poor Pierre is too weak with me. I like a man to be a man. And yet he is very brave, is he not?"

"Extremely so," said Lucan; "he is capable of the most energetic actions."

"He looks like it, and yet with me--he is an angel."

"It is because he loves you."

"Quite probable!--some of those flowers are so curious. Look at this one; it looks like a little lady!"

"I hope that you love him too, my good Pierre?"

"Quite probable, too!"

After a pause, she shook her head:

"And why should I love him?"

"What a question!" said Lucan. "Why, because he is perfectly worthy of being loved; because he has every quality; intelligence, heart, and even beauty--finally, because you have married him."

"Monsieur de Lucan, will you allow me to tell you something confidentially?"

"I beg you to do so."