ng, heedless of the sun that is scorching her neck. Her wide-eyed
gaze wanders over things which it does not take in; her lips,
half-parted in a smile, betray the indecision of her soul. At last,
blushing all over her face, she stammers out:

"I am frightened. You have awakened my longings, my dreams. I am
frightened. I would rather be as I was before I knew you, when I only
wanted to die. When your message was brought to the farm, I swore that I
would not come; and yet ... here I am!"

I put my arm round her neck:

"It's too late," I whispered, kissing her. "To discuss the idea of
rebellion means to give way to it. Resist no longer, Roseline; let
yourself go."

Her incredulous eyes remained fixed on mine; and she said, slowly:

"There is one thing that puzzles me. How am I to express it? I should
like to know why you take so much interest in me: I am neither a friend
nor a relation." And she added, with a knowing air, "You see, what you
are doing doesn't seem quite natural!"

My heart shrank. So this peasant, this rough, simple girl knew the laws
of the world! She knew that, even in the manner of doing good, there are
customs to be followed, "conventions to be observed!" Ah, poor Rose,
though your instinctive reason is like a broad white fabric which
circumstances have not yet soiled, your character already has ugly
streaks in it; the voice of the multitude spoke through your lovely
mouth and, for a brief second, it became disfigured in my eyes! Alas, if
I wore a queer head-dress and a veil down my back and a chaplet hanging
by my side and said to you, "My child, I wish to save your soul," would
you not think my insistence quite simple and natural?

Taking her poor, deformed hands in mine, I knelt down beside her:

"Rose, the happiness which I find in helping you is a sufficient motive
for me; and I will offer you no others.... I give you my confidence
blindly, for one can do nothing without faith. I give you my confidence
and I ask for yours. Will you vouchsafe it me?"

The sun is streaming upon us; our faces are close together; my smile
calls for hers; my eyes gaze into hers; and I repeat my prayer.

Then she whispers, shily:

"You see ... I have been deceived once; perhaps you don't know...."

I interrupted her:

"I know that we must have been deceived twenty times before we learn to
give our confidence blindly, like a little child!... I know that we
must have been perpetually deceived before we under