hardly dared touch them. He tried to escape
those eyes which, tender and smiling, anxious and curious, tried to
meet his eyes. He trembled before the necessity of speaking to Bettina,
before the necessity of listening to her.

It was then that Jean took refuge with Mrs. Scott, and it was then that
Mrs. Scott gathered those uncertain, agitated, troubled words which were
not addressed to her, and which she took for herself, nevertheless. It
would have been difficult not to be mistaken.

For of these still vague and confused sentiments which agitated her,
Bettina had as yet said nothing. She guarded and caressed the secret of
her budding love, as a miser guards and caresses the first coins of his
treasure. The day when she should see clearly into her own heart; the
day that she should be sure that she loved--ah! she would speak that
day, and how happy she should be to tell all to Susie!

Mrs. Scott had ended by attributing to herself this melancholy of Jean,
which, day by day, took a more marked character. She was flattered by
it--a woman is never displeased at thinking herself beloved--and vexed
at the same time. She held Jean in great esteem, in great affection;
but she was greatly distressed at the thought that if he were sad and
unhappy, it was because of her.

Susie was, besides, conscious of her own innocence. With others she had
sometimes been coquettish, very coquettish. To torment them a little,
was that such a great crime? They had nothing to do, they were
good-for-nothing, it occupied them while it amused her. It helped
them to pass their time, and it helped her, too. But Susie had not to
reproach herself for having flirted with Jean. She recognized his merit
and his superiority; he was worth more than the others, he was a man to
suffer seriously, and that was what Mrs. Scott did not wish. Already,
two or three times, she had been on the point of speaking to him very
seriously, very affectionately, but she had reflected Jean was going
away for three weeks; on his return, if it were still necessary, she
would read him a lecture, and would act in such a manner that love
should not come and foolishly interfere in their friendship.

So Jean was to go the next day. Bettina had insisted that he should
spend this last day at Longueval, and dine at the house. Jean had
refused, alleging that he had much to do the night before his departure.

He arrived in the evening, about half-past ten; he came on foot. Several
t