you would not like me to have two beaux on my string?"
"I do not wish tyrannically and unjustly to restrain the impulses of your heart. Liberty consists in respecting free will. So, change your affection, for fidelity is not natural – to some."
Discussion was the youth's strong point; he knew little, but more than the girl. So he began to regain coolness.
"Have you a good memory, Master Philosopher?" said Nicole. "Do you remember when I came back from the nunnery with mistress, and you consoled me, and taking me in your arms, said: 'You are an orphan like me; let us be brother and sister through similar misfortune.' Did you mean what you said?"
"Yes, then; but five months have changed me; I think otherwise at present."
"You mean you will not wed me? Yet Nicole Legay is worth a Gilbert, it seems to me."
"All men are equal; but nature or education improves or depreciates them. As their faculties or acquirements expand, they part from one another."
"I understand that we must part, and that you are a scamp. How ever could I fancy such a fellow?"
"Nicole, I am never going to marry, but be a learned man or a philosopher. Learning requires the isolation of the mind; philosophy that of the body."
"Master Gilbert, you are a scoundrel, and not worth a girl like me. But you laugh," she continued, with a dry smile more ominous than his satirical laugh; "do not make war with me; for I shall do such deeds that you will be sorry, for they will fall on your head, for having turned me astray."
"You are growing wiser; and I am convinced now that you would refuse me if I sued you."
Nicole reflected, clenching her hands and gritting her teeth.
"I believe you are right, Gilbert," she said; "I, too, see my horizon enlarge, and believe I am fated for better things than to be so mean as a philosopher's wife. Go back to your ladder, sirrah, and try not to break your neck, though I believe it would be a blessing to others, and may be for yourself."
Gilbert hesitated for a space in indecision, for Nicole, excited by love and spite, was a ravishing creature; but he had determined to break with her, as she hampered his passion and his aspirations.
"Gone," murmured Nicole in a few seconds.
She ran to the window, but all was dark. She went to her mistress' door, where she listened.
"She is asleep; but I will know all about it to-morrow."
It was broad day when Andrea de Taverney awoke.
In trying to rise, she felt such lassitude and sharp pain that she fell back on the pillow uttering a groan.
"Goodness, what is the matter?" cried Nicole, who had opened the curtains.
"I do not know. I feel lame all over; my chest seems broken in."
"It is the outbreak of the cold you caught last night," said the maid.
"Last night?" repeated the surprised lady; but she remarked the disorder of her room, and added: "Stay, I remember that I felt very tired – exhausted – it must have been the storm. I fell to sleep over my music. I recall nothing further. I went up hither half asleep, and must have thrown myself on the bed without undressing properly."
"You must have stayed very late at the music, then," observed Nicole, "for, before you retired to your bedroom I came down, having heard steps about – "
"But I did not stir from the parlor."
"Oh, of course, you know better than me," said Nicole.
"You must mistake," replied the other with the utmost sweetness: "I never left the seat; but I remember that I was cold, for I walked quite swiftly."
"When I saw you in the garden, however, you walked very freely."
"I, in the grounds? – you know I never go out after dark."
"I should think I knew my mistress by sight," said the maid, doubling her scrutiny; "I thought that you were taking a stroll with somebody."
"With whom would I be taking a stroll?" demanded Andrea, without seeing that her servant was putting her to an examination.
Nicole did not think it prudent to proceed, for the coolness of the hypocrite, as she considered her, frightened her. So she changed the subject.
"I hope you are not going to be sick, either with fatigue or sorrow. Both have the same effect. Ah, well I know how sorrows undermine!"
"You do? Have you sorrows, Nicole?"
"Indeed; I was coming to tell my mistress, when I was frightened to see how queer you looked; no doubt, we both are upset."
"Really!" queried Andrea, offended at the "we both."
"I am thinking of getting married."
"Why, you are not yet seventeen – "
"But you are sixteen and – "
She was going to say something saucy, but she knew Andrea too well to risk it, and cut short the explanation.
"Indeed, I cannot know what my mistress thinks, but I am low-born and I act according to my nature. It is natural to have a sweetheart."
"Oh, you have a lover then! You seem to make good use of your time here."
"I must look forward. You are a lady and have expectations from rich kinsfolks going off; but I have no family and must get into one."
As all this seemed straightforward enough, Andrea forgot what had been offensive in tone, and said, with her kindness taking the reins:
"Is it any one I know? Speak out, as it is the duty of masters to interest themselves in the fate of their servants, and I am pleased with you."
"That is very kind. It is – Gilbert!"
To her high amaze, Andrea did not wince.
"As he loves you, marry him," she replied, easily. "He is an orphan, too, so you are both your own masters. Only, you are both rather young."
"We shall have the longer life together."
"You are penniless."
"We can work."
"What can he do, who is good for nothing?"
"He is good to catch game for master's table, anyway; you slander poor Gilbert, who is full of attention for you."
"He does his duty as a servant – "
"Nay; he is not a servant; he is never paid."
"He is son of a farmer of ours; he is kept and does nothing for it; so, he steals his support. But what are you aiming at to defend so warmly a boy whom nobody attacks?"
"I never thought you would attack him! it is just the other way about!" with a bitter smile.
"Something more I do not understand."
"Because you do not want to."
"Enough!
