“More jealous than ever of your taking her away from him!” whispered Madame Danville in her son’s ear.  “Hush! don’t, for God’s sake, take any notice of it,” she added, hurriedly, as he rose from the seat and faced Trudaine with undisguised irritation and impatience in his manner.  Before he could speak, the old servant Guillaume made his appearance, and announced that coffee was ready.  Madame Danville again said “Hush!” and quickly took one of his arms, while he offered the other to Rose.  “Charles,” said the young girl, amazedly, “how flushed your face is, and how your arm trembles!”

He controlled himself in a moment, smiled, and said to her:  “Can’t you guess why, Rose?  I am thinking of to-morrow.”  While he was speaking, he passed close by the land-steward, on his way back to the house with the ladies.  The smile returned to Monsieur Lomaque’s lean face, and a curious light twinkled in his red-rimmed eyes as he began a fresh hole in the grass.

“Won’t you go indoors, and take some coffee?” asked Trudaine, touching the land-steward on the arm.

Monsieur Lomaque started a little and left his cane sticking in the ground.  “A thousand thanks, monsieur,” he said; “may I be allowed to follow you?”

“I confess the beauty of the evening makes me a little unwilling to leave this place just yet.”

“Ah! the beauties of Nature—­I feel them with you, Monsieur Trudaine; I feel them here.”  Saying this, Lomaque laid one hand on his heart, and with the other pulled his stick out of the grass.  He had looked as little at the landscape or the setting sun as Monsieur Justin himself.

They sat down, side by side, on the empty bench; and then there followed an awkward pause.  Submissive Lomaque was too discreet to forget his place, and venture on starting a new topic.  Trudaine was preoccupied, and disinclined to talk.  It was necessary, however, in common politeness, to say something.  Hardly attending himself to his own words, he began with a commonplace phrase:  “I regret, Monsieur Lomaque, that we have not had more opportunities of bettering our acquaintance.”

“I feel deeply indebted,” rejoined the land-steward, “to the admirable Madame Danville for having chosen me as her escort hither from her son’s estate near Lyons, and having thereby procured for me the honor of this introduction.”  Both Monsieur Lomaque’s red-rimmed eyes were seized with a sudden fit of winking, as he made this polite speech.  His enemies were accustomed to say that, whenever he was particularly insincere, or particularly deceitful, he always took refuge in the weakness of his eyes, and so evaded the trying ordeal of being obliged to look steadily at the person whom he was speaking with.

“I was pleased to hear you mention my late father’s name, at dinner, in terms of high respect,” continued Trudaine, resolutely keeping up the conversation.  “Did you know him?”

“I am indirectly indebted to your excellent father,” answered the land-steward, “for the very situation which I now hold.  At a time when the good word of a man of substance and reputation was needed to save me from poverty and ruin, your father spoke that word.  Since then I have, in my own very small way, succeeded in life, until I have risen to the honor of superintending the estate of Monsieur Danville.”