most flattering exclamations and much warmth of manner. She talked of
D'Argenton and of their friend at Tours, which annoyed Jack intensely,
for he would have wished neither person to have been mentioned in
Cecile's pure presence, and over and over again he stopped the careless
babble of his mother who had no such scruples. They urged Madame
D'Argenton to remain to dinner, but she had already lingered too long,
and was uneasily occupied in inventing a series of excuses for her
delay, which should be in readiness when she encountered her poet's
frowning face.

"Above all, Jack, if you write to me, be sure that you put on your
letter '_to be called for_,' for M. D'Argenton is much vexed with you
just now. So do not be astonished if I scold you a little in my next
letter, for he is always there when I write. He even dictates my
sentences sometimes; but don't mind, dear, you will understand."

She acknowledged her slavery with naivete, and Jack was consoled for the
tyranny by which she was oppressed by seeing her go away in excellent
spirits, and with her shawl wrapped so gracefully around her, and her
travelling-bag carried as lightly as she carried all the burdens of
life.

Have you ever seen those water-lilies, whose long stems arise from the
depths of the river, finding their way through all obstacles until they
expand on the surface, opening their magnificent white cups, and filling
the air with their delicate perfume? Thus grew and flowered the love of
these two young hearts. With Cecile, the divine flower had grown in a
limpid soul, where the most careless eyes could have discerned it.
With Jack, its roots had been tangled and deformed, but when the stems
reached the regions of air and light, they straightened themselves, and
needed but little more to burst into flower.

"If you wish," said M. Rivals, one evening, "we will go to-morrow to the
vintage at Coudray; the farmer will send his wagon; you two can go in
that in the morning, and I will join you at dinner."

They accepted the proposition with delight. They started on a bright
morning at the end of October. A soft haze hung over the landscape,
retreating before them, as it seemed; upon the mown fields and on the
bundles of golden grain, upon the slender plants, the last remains of
the summer's brightness, long silken threads floated like particles of
gray fog. The river ran on one side of the highway, bordered by huge
trees. The freshness of the air heigh