s strong within him, he could not prevent a dim feeling of hope from
crossing his mind. Claudet was not certain that he was beloved; and
possibly Reine's answer would be a refusal. Then he should have a free
field.

By a very human, but very illogical impulse, Julien de Buxieres had
hardly concluded the arrangement with Claudet which was to strike
the fatal blow to his own happiness when he began to forestall the
possibilities which the future might have in store for him. The odor of
the wild mint and meadow-sweet, dotting the banks of the stream, again
awoke vague, happy anticipations. Longing to reach Reine Vincart's
presence, he hastened his steps, then stopped suddenly, seized with an
overpowering panic. He had not seen her since the painful episode in the
hut, and it must have left with her a very sorry impression. What could
he do, if she refused to receive him or listen to him?

While revolting these conflicting thoughts in his mind, he came to
the fields leading directly to La Thuiliere, and just beyond, across a
waving mass of oats and rye, the shining tops of the farm-buildings came
in sight. A few minutes later, he pushed aside a gate and entered the
yard.

The shutters were closed, the outer gate was closed inside, and the
house seemed deserted. Julien began to think that the young girl he
was seeking had gone into the fields with the farm-hands, and stood
uncertain and disappointed in the middle of the courtyard. At this
sudden intrusion into their domain, a brood of chickens, who had been
clucking sedately around, and picking up nourishment at the same time,
scattered screaming in every direction, heads down, feet sprawling,
until by unanimous consent they made a beeline for a half-open door,
leading to the orchard. Through this manoeuvre, the young man's
attention was brought to the fact that through this opening he could
reach the rear facade of the building. He therefore entered a grassy
lane, winding round a group of stones draped with ivy; and leaving
the orchard on his left, he pushed on toward the garden itself--a real
country garden with square beds bordered by mossy clumps alternating
with currant-bushes, rows of raspberry-trees, lettuce and cabbage beds,
beans and runners climbing up their slender supports, and, here and
there, bunches of red carnations and peasant roses.

Suddenly, at the end of a long avenue, he discovered Reine Vincart,
seated on the steps before an arched door, communicat