Yet even then Isabelle gently checked the passionate utterances of her faithful suitor, and strove to moderate his rapturous transports, though their very fervour made her heart rejoice, and brought a bright flush to her cheeks and a happy light to her eyes that rendered her more adorably beautiful than ever.
"Whatever you may do or say, my darling," he answered, with a sweet, tender smile, "you will never be able to tire out my constancy.

If need be, I will wait for you until all your scruples shall have vanished of themselves--though it be not till these beautiful, soft brown tresses, with their exquisite tinge of gold where the sun shines on them, shall have turned to silver." "Oh!" cried Isabelle, "I shall be so old and so ugly then that even your sublime courage will be daunted, and I fear that in rewarding your perseverance and fidelity by the gift of myself I should only be punishing my devoted knight and brave champion." "You will never be ugly, my beloved Isabelle, if you live to be a hundred," he replied, with an adoring glance, "for yours is not the mere physical beauty, that fades away and vanishes--it is the beauty of the soul, which is immortal." "All the same you would be badly off," rejoined Isabelle, "if I were to take you at your word, and promise to be yours when I was old and gray.
But enough of this jesting," she continued gravely, "let us be serious! You know my resolution, de Sigognac, so try to content yourself with being the object of the deepest, truest, most devoted love that was ever yet bestowed on mortal man since hearts began to beat in this strange world of ours." "Such a charming avowal ought to satisfy me, I admit, but it does not! My love for you is infinite--it can brook no bounds--it is ever increasing--rising higher and higher, despite your heavenly voice, that bids it keep within the limits you have fixed for it." "Do not talk so, de Sigognac! you vex me by such extravagances," said Isabelle, with a little pout that was as charming as her sweetest smile; for in spite of herself her heart beat high with joy at these fervent protestations of a love that no coldness could repel, no remonstrance diminish.
They walked on a little way in silence--de Sigognac not daring to say more then, lest he should seriously displease the sweet creature he loved better than his own life.

Suddenly she drew her arm out of his, and with an exclamation of delight, sprang to a little bank by the road-side, where she had spied a tiny violet, peeping out from amid the dead leaves that had lain there all the winter through--the first harbinger of spring, smiling up at her a friendly greeting, despite the wintry cold of February.

She knelt down and gently cleared away the dry leaves and grass about it, carefully broke the frail little stem, and returned to de Sigognac's side with her treasure--more delighted than if she had found a precious jewel lying hidden among the mosses.
"Only see, how exquisitely beautiful and delicate it is"-- said she, showing it to him--"with its dear little petals scarcely unrolled yet to return the greeting of this bright, warm sunshine, that has roused it from its long winter sleep." "It was not the sunshine, however bright and warm," answered de Sigognac, "but the light of your eyes, sweet Isabelle, that made it open out to greet you--and it is exactly the colour too of those dear eyes of yours." "It has scarcely any fragrance, but that is because it's so cold," said Isabelle, loosening her scarf, and putting it carefully inside the ruff that encircled her slender, white neck.

In a few minutes she took it out again, inhaled its rich perfume, pressed it furtively to her lips, and offered it to de Sigognac.
"See how sweet it is now! The warmth I imparted to it has reassured the little modest, timid blossom, and it breathes out its incomparable fragrance in gratitude to me." "Say rather that it has received it from you," he replied, raising the violet tenderly to his lips, and taking from it the kiss Isabelle had bestowed--"for this delicate, delicious odour has nothing gross or earthly about it--it is angelically pure and sweet, like yourself, my own Isabelle." "Ah! the naughty flatterer," said she, smiling upon him with all her heart in her eyes.