He longed to let her know what tender admiration she excited in his mind; but he did not know how to set about it, nor in what style to address a girl of so strange and unusual a disposition.

So he contented himself with fixing an enamored gaze upon her, while she stood leaning against one of the inner posts, and twisted mechanically between her fingers a branch of wild honeysuckle.

Annoyed at his taciturnity, she at last broke the silence: "You are not saying anything, Monsieur de Buxieres; do you regret having come to this fete ?" "Regret it, Mademoiselle ?" returned he; "it is a long time since I have had so pleasant a day, and I thank you, for it is to you I owe it." "To me?
You are joking.

It is the good-humor of the people, the spring sunshine, and the pure air of the forest that you must thank.

I have no part in it." "You are everything in it, on the contrary," said he, tenderly.