d I," replied Etienne, "can _I_ go on the seashore after sundown?"

The double meaning of this speech, full of the gentle playfulness of a
first desire, made the old man smile.

"You have a daughter, Beauvouloir."

"Yes, monseigneur,--the child of my old age; my darling child.
Monseigneur, the duke, your father, charged me so earnestly to watch
your precious health that, not being able to go to Forcalier, where she
was, I have brought her here, to my great regret. In order to conceal
her from all eyes, I have placed her in the house monseigneur used to
occupy. She is so delicate I fear everything, even a sudden sentiment or
emotion. I have never taught her anything; knowledge would kill her."

"She knows nothing!" cried Etienne, surprised.

"She has all the talents of a good housewife, but she has lived as the
plants live. Ignorance, monseigneur, is as sacred a thing as knowledge.
Knowledge and ignorance are only two ways of living, for the human
creature. Both preserve the soul and envelop it; knowledge is
your existence, but ignorance will save my daughter's life. Pearls
well-hidden escape the diver, and live happy. I can only compare my
Gabrielle to a pearl; her skin has the pearl's translucence, her soul
its softness, and until this day Forcalier has been her fostering
shell."

"Come with me," said Etienne, throwing on a cloak. "I want to walk on
the seashore, the air is so soft."

Beauvouloir and his master walked in silence until they reached a spot
where a line of light, coming from between the shutters of a fisherman's
house, had furrowed the sea with a golden rivulet.

"I know not how to express," said Etienne, addressing his companion,
"the sensations that light, cast upon the water, excites in me. I have
often watched it streaming from the windows of that room," he added,
pointing back to his mother's chamber, "until it was extinguished."

"Delicate as Gabrielle is," said Beauvouloir, gaily, "she can come and
walk with us; the night is warm, and the air has no dampness. I will
fetch her; but be prudent, monseigneur."

Etienne was too timid to propose to accompany Beauvouloir into the
house; besides, he was in that torpid state into which we are plunged
by the influx of ideas and sensations which give birth to the dawn of
passion. Conscious of more freedom in being alone, he cried out, looking
at the sea now gleaming in the moonlight,--

"The Ocean has passed into my soul!"

The sight of the love