All this tenderness of which Edmee was the object, this family affection so completely new to me, the genuinely cordial relations existing between respectful plebeians and kindly patricians—­everything that I now saw and heard seemed like a dream.  I looked on with a sensation that it was all unintelligible to me.  However, soon after our caravan started my brain began to work; for I then saw the lieutenant-general (M. de la Marche) thrust his horse between Edmee’s and my own, as if he had a right to be next to her.  I remembered her telling me at Roche-Mauprat that he was her betrothed.  Hatred and anger at once surged up within me, and I know not what absurdity I should have committed, had not Edmee, apparently divining the workings of my unruly soul, told him that she wanted to speak to me, and thus restored me to my place by her side.

“What have you to say to me?” I asked with more eagerness than politeness.

“Nothing,” she answered in an undertone.  “I shall have much to say later.  Until then will you do everything I ask of you?”

“And why the devil should I do everything you ask of me, cousin?”

For a moment she hesitated to reply; then, making an effort, she said: 

“Because it is thus that a man proves to a woman that he loves her.”

“Do you believe that I don’t love you?” I replied abruptly.

“How should I know?” she said.

This doubt astonished me very much, and I tried to combat it after my fashion.

“Are you not beautiful?” I said; “and am not I a young man?  Perhaps you think I am too much of a boy to notice a woman’s beauty; but now that my head is calm, and I am sad and quite serious, I can assure you that I am even more deeply in love with you than I thought.  The more I look at you the more beautiful you seem.  I did not think that a woman could be so lovely.  I tell you I shall not sleep till . . .”

“Hold your tongue,” she said sharply.

“Oh, I suppose you are afraid that man will hear me,” I answered, pointing to M. de la Marche.  “Have no fear; I know how to keep my word; and, as you are the daughter of a noble house, I hope you know how to keep yours.”

She did not reply.  We had reached a part of the road where it was only possible for two to walk abreast.  The darkness was profound, and although the chevalier and the lieutenant-general were at our heels, I was going to make bold to put my arm round her waist, when she said to me, in a sad and weary voice: 

“Cousin, forgive me for not talking to you.  I’m afraid I did not quite understand what you said.  I am so exhausted that I feel as if I were going to die.  Luckily, we have reached home now.  Promise me that you will love my father, that you will yield to all his wishes, that you will decide nothing without consulting me.  Promise me this if you would have me believe in your friendship.”

“Oh, my friendship? you are welcome not to believe in that,” I answered; “but you must believe in my love.  I promise everything you wish.  And you, will you not promise me anything?  Do, now, with a good grace.”