I have noticed your
industrious application to that business."
"Ta-ta, little one," he wheedled, lowering his voice; "you mustn't
go to making bug-bears out of nothing."
"Bug-bears!" she retorted, "you go on about your business and I'll
attend to mine," and she flirted into the house.
Rene laughed under his breath, standing a moment as if expecting
her to come out again; but she did not, and he resumed his walk
singing softly--
"Elle a les joues vermeilles, vermeilles, Ma belle, ma belle
petite."
But ten to one he was not thinking of Madamoiselle Adrienne
Bourcier. His mind, however, must have been absorbingly occupied;
for in the straight, open way he met Father Beret and did not see
him until he came near bumping against the old man, who stepped
aside with astonishing agility and said--
"Dieu vous benisse, mon fils; but what is your great hurry--where
can you be going in such happy haste?" Rene did not stop to parley
with the priest. He flung some phrase of pleasant greeting back
over his shoulder as he trudged on, his heart beginning a tattoo
against his ribs when the Roussillon place came in sight, and he
took hold of his mustache to pull it, as some men must do in
moments of nervousness and bashfulness. If sounds ever have color,
the humming in his ears was of a rosy hue; if thoughts ever exhale
fragrance, his brain overflowed with the sweets of violet and
heliotrope.
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