“Not among Bretons,” said the chevalier.

The next day Calyste saw Charlotte, as she arrived dressed with unusual care, just after the baron had given him, in the dining-room, a discourse on matrimony, to which he could make no answer.  He now knew the ignorance of his father and mother and all their friends; he had gathered the fruits of the tree of knowledge, and knew himself to be as much isolated as if he did not speak the family language.  He merely requested his father to give him a few days’ grace.  The old baron rubbed his hands with joy, and gave fresh life to the baroness by whispering in her ear what he called the good news.

Breakfast was gay; Charlotte, to whom the baron had given a hint, was sparkling.  After the meal was over, Calyste went out upon the portico leading to the garden, followed by Charlotte; he gave her his arm and led her to the grotto.  Their parents and friends were at the window, looking at them with a species of tenderness.  Presently Charlotte, uneasy at her suitor’s silence, looked back and saw them, which gave her an opportunity of beginning the conversation by saying to Calyste,—­

“They are watching us.”

“They cannot hear us,” he replied.

“True; but they see us.”

“Let us sit down, Charlotte,” replied Calyste, gently taking her hand.

“Is it true that your banner used formerly to float from that twisted column?” asked Charlotte, with a sense that the house was already hers; how comfortable she should be there! what a happy sort of life!  “You will make some changes inside the house, won’t you, Calyste?” she said.

“I shall not have time, my dear Charlotte,” said the young man, taking her hands and kissing them.  “I am going now to tell you my secret.  I love too well a person whom you have seen, and who loves me, to be able to make the happiness of any other woman; though I know that from our childhood you and I have been destined for each other by our friends.”

“But she is married, Calyste.”

“I shall wait,” replied the young man.

“And I, too,” said Charlotte, her eyes filling with tears.  “You cannot long love a woman like that, who, they say, has gone off with a singer—­”

“Marry, my dear Charlotte,” said Calyste, interrupting her.  “With the fortune your aunt intends to give you, which is enormous for Brittany, you can choose some better man than I. You could marry a titled man.  I have brought you here, not to tell you what you already knew, but to entreat you, in the name of our childish friendship, to take this rupture upon yourself, and say that you have rejected me.  Say that you do not wish to marry a man whose heart is not free; and thus I shall be spared at least the sense that I have done you public wrong.  You do not know, Charlotte, how heavy a burden life now is to me.  I cannot bear the slightest struggle; I am weakened like a man whose vital spark is gone, whose soul has left him.  If it were not for the grief I should cause my mother, I would have flung myself before now into the sea; I have not returned to the rocks at Croisic since the day that temptation became almost irresistible.  Do not speak of this to any one.  Good-bye, Charlotte.”