"Monsieur de Saumaise," said Anne, "will you take me to the pool? You
told me that it would make a fine mirror, and I have not seen my face
in so long a time that I declare I have quite forgotten how it looks."
"Come along, Mademoiselle; into the heart of the wood. I had a poem to
recite to you, but I have forgotten part of it. It is heroic, and
begins like this: "Laughing at fate and her chilling frown,
Plunging through wilderness, cavern, and cave,
Building the citadel, fortress, and town,
Fearing nor desert, the sea, nor the grave:
Courage finds her a niche in the knave,
Fame is not niggard with laurel or pain;
Pathways with blood and bones do they pave:
These are the hazards that kings disdain!
"Bright are the jewels they add to the crown,
Levied on savage and pilfered from slave:
Under the winds and the suns that brown,
Fearing nor desert, the sea, nor the grave!
High shall the Future their names engrave,
For these are lives that are not spent in vain,
Though their reward be a tomb 'neath the wave.
These are the hazards that kings disdain!
"I will try to remember the last stanza and the envoi as we go
along," added Victor.
And together they passed down the ravine, two brave hearts assuming a
gaiety which deceived only the Chevalier, who still reclined against
the boulder and was proceeding silently to inspect the golden plush of
an empty bur. Two or three minutes passed; Victor's voice became
indistinct and finally was heard no longer, Madame surveyed the
Chevalier with a lurking scornful smile. This man was going to force
her to love him!
"Monsieur, you seem determined to annoy me. I shall not ask you to
speak again."
"Is it possible that I can still annoy you, Madame?"
Madame crushed a bur with her foot . . . and gasped. She had forgotten
the loose seam in her moccasin. The delicate needles had penetrated
the flesh. This little comedy, however, passed over his head.
"I did not ask you to accompany me to-day."
"So I observed. Nor did I ask to come. That is why I believed in
silence. Besides, I have said all I have to say," quietly. He cast
aside the bur.
"Then your vocabulary consists of a dozen words, such as, 'It is a far
cry from the Louvre to this spot'?"
"I believe I used the word 'galleries.'" Their past was indissolubly
linked to this word.
"On a certain day you vowed that you should force me to love you. What
progress have you made, Monsieur? I am curious."
"No man escapes being an ass sometimes, Madame. That was my particular
morning."
Decidedly, this lack of interest on his part annoyed her. He had held
her in his arms one night, and had not kissed her; he had vowed to
force her to love him, and now he sat still and unruffled under her
contempt. What manner of man was it?