“Well, I’ve give you a trial,” said Modeste, whose strongest desire was to get rid of so clever a watcher.  “Please go at once to all the hotels in Graville and in Havre, and ask if a gentleman has arrived from England named Monsieur Arthur—­”

“Listen to me, mademoiselle,” said Butscha, interrupting Modeste respectfully.  “I will go and take a walk on the seashore, for you don’t want me to go to church to-day; that’s what it is.”

Modeste looked at her dwarf with a perfectly stupid astonishment.

“Mademoiselle, you have wrapped your face in cotton-wool and a silk handkerchief, but there’s nothing the matter with you; and you have put that thick veil on your bonnet to see some one yourself without being seen.”

“Where did you acquire all that perspicacity?” cried Modeste, blushing.

“Moreover, mademoiselle, you have not put on your corset; a cold in the head wouldn’t oblige you to disfigure your waist and wear half a dozen petticoats, nor hide your hands in these old gloves, and your pretty feet in those hideous shoes, nor dress yourself like a beggar-woman, nor—­”

“That’s enough,” she said.  “How am I to be certain that you will obey me?”

“My master is obliged to go to Sainte-Adresse.  He does not like it, but he is so truly good he won’t deprive me of my Sunday; I will offer to go for him.”

“Go, and I will trust you.”

“You are sure I can do nothing for you in Havre?”

“Nothing.  Hear me, mysterious dwarf,—­look,” she continued, pointing to the cloudless sky; “can you see a single trace of that bird that flew by just now?  No; well then, my actions are pure as the air is pure, and leave no stain behind them.  You may reassure Dumay and the Latournelles, and my mother.  That hand,” she said, holding up a pretty delicate hand, with the points of the rosy fingers, through which the light shone, slightly turning back, “will never be given, it will never even be kissed by what people call a lover until my father has returned.”

“Why don’t you want me in the church to-day?”

“Do you venture to question me after all I have done you the honor to say, and to ask of you?”

Butscha bowed without another word, and departed to find his master, in all the rapture of being taken into the service of his goddess.

Half an hour later, Monsieur and Madame Latournelle came to fetch Modeste, who complained of a horrible toothache.

“I really have not had the courage to dress myself,” she said.

“Well then,” replied the worthy chaperone, “stay at home.”

“Oh, no!” said Modeste.  “I would rather not.  I have bundled myself up, and I don’t think it will do me any harm to go out.”

And Mademoiselle Mignon marched off beside Latournelle, refusing to take his arm lest she should be questioned about the outward trembling which betrayed her inward agitation at the thought of at last seeing her great poet.  One look, the first,—­was it not about to decide her fate?