you?"

She replied by a motion of the head.

"I should confess," he resumed, "that the passion that is called the
grand passion is for me a sealed letter, the mystery of mysteries. I
am completely ignorant of it. Yet that did not prevent my marrying,
and making a choice that brought me great happiness. Your method is
different, and I must believe that you have yielded to an irresistible
force. It seems to me, however, that resistance can always be made. You
have will, character--"

She interrupted him, murmuring, "It is either he or no one."

"Oh! if it comes to that," he continued, "you are of age, and mistress
of your actions; there is nothing for me but to submit. Still, it will
be painful to you, I like to believe, to marry in opposition to my
wishes."

"Do you doubt it? I am willing not to marry."

"Bad solution! It is worse than the other. Let us come to terms. The
positive has its place only in science. It is absolutely true that borax
is a salt composed of boracic acid and soda. Beyond such facts all is
uncertain. Does this happy man surmise the sentiments he has inspired?"

"I tell you that you do not know him? Do you take him for a coxcomb?
When he came this morning to announce his departure, his serious
intention was to bid us an eternal farewell, and never to see me again."

"A most excellent idea that," sighed M. Moriaz. "Unfortunately, you
represented to him that it took but two hours to go from Paris to
Cormeilles."

"I had trouble to persuade him of it."

"Well, since the matter stands thus, nothing is yet lost. You know, my
dear, that my physician advised me to beware of abrupt transitions, and
not to change too suddenly from the keen air of Engadine to the heavy
atmosphere of the plains. On leaving Saint Moritz, we will descend
five hundred metres lower, and remain three weeks at Churwalden;
consequently, we will not be in Paris for a month. You will employ this
month in somewhat calming your imagination. It is very easy for it to
become excited in these mountain-holes, without taking into account the
wearisomeness of hotel-life. From the very day after our arrival you
took a dislike to the paper in our little _salon_, and its squares, I
confess, are very ugly. In every square, a thrush stretching out
its neck to peck a currant. Two hundred thrushes and two hundred
currants--it was enough to weary you to death. Suddenly there appears a
Pole--"

"The thrushes had nothing to do with it," s