ith the abbe that she did not on this occasion observe
her daughter's manner. When Monsieur de Solis came again to the house
on the occasion of her illness, she was too violently agitated to notice
the color that rushed into Marguerite's face and betrayed the tumult of
a virgin heart conscious of its first joy. By the time the old abbe was
announced, Marguerite had taken up her sewing and appeared to give it
such attention that she bowed to the uncle and nephew without looking at
them. Monsieur Claes mechanically returned their salutation and left
the room with the air of a man called away by his occupations. The good
Dominican sat down beside Madame Claes and looked at her with one of
those searching glances by which he penetrated the minds of others; the
sight of Monsieur Claes and his wife was enough to make him aware of a
catastrophe.

"My children," said the mother, "go into the garden; Marguerite, show
Emmanuel your father's tulips."

Marguerite, half abashed, took Felicie's arm and looked at the young
man, who blushed and caught up little Jean to cover his confusion. When
all four were in the garden, Felicie and Jean ran to the other side,
leaving Marguerite, who, conscious that she was alone with young de
Solis, led him to the pyramid of tulips, arranged precisely in the same
manner year after year by Lemulquinier.

"Do you love tulips?" asked Marguerite, after standing for a moment in
deep silence,--a silence Emmanuel seemed little disposed to break.

"Mademoiselle, these flowers are beautiful, but to love them we must
perhaps have a taste of them, and know how to understand their beauties.
They dazzle me. Constant study in the gloomy little chamber in which I
live, close to my uncle, makes me prefer those flowers that are softer
to the eye."

Saying these words he glanced at Marguerite; but the look, full as it
was of confused desires, contained no allusion to the lily whiteness,
the sweet serenity, the tender coloring which made her face a flower.

"Do you work very hard?" she asked, leading him to a wooden seat with
a back, painted green. "Here," she continued, "the tulips are not so
close; they will not tire your eyes. Yes, you are right, those colors
are dazzling; they give pain."

"Do I work hard?" replied the young man after a short silence, as he
smoothed the gravel with his foot. "Yes; I work at many things. My uncle
wished to make me a priest."

"Oh!" exclaimed Marguerite, naively.

"I resi