"It is the wind," he thought. "She is truly the most beautiful woman
in all the world; and fool that I am, I have vowed to her face that I
shall make her love me!" He could hear Victor's voice from time to
time, coming with the wind.
"Monsieur," madame said abruptly, when the silence Could no longer be
endured, "since you are here . . . Well, why do you not speak?"
The paddle turned so violently that the canoe came dangerously near
upsetting.
"What shall I say, Madame?"
"Eh! must I think for you?" impatiently.
The fact that her eye was not upon him, gave him a vestige of courage.
"It is a far cry from the galleries of the Louvre, Madame, to this
spot."
"We have gone back to the beginning of the world. No music save
Nicot's violin, which he plays sadly enough; no masks, no parties, no
galloping to the hunt, no languishing in the balconies. Were it not
pregnant with hidden dangers, I should love this land. I wonder who is
the latest celebrity at the old Rambouillet; a poet possibly, a
swashbuckler, more probably."
"Move back a little, Madame. We shall land on that stretch of sand by
the willows.
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