Monsieur Savinien came by the mail-post the night before his mother's fete-day; but we did not know it. At seven the next morning, after I had said my prayers, I opened the window to air my room and I saw the windows in Monsieur Savinien's room open; and Monsieur Savinien was there, in a dressing gown, arranging his beard; in all his movements there was such grace--I mean, he seemed to me so charming. He combed his black moustache and the little tuft on his chin, and I saw his white throat--so round!--must I tell you all? I noticed that his throat and face and that beautiful black hair were all so different from yours when I watch you arranging your beard. There came--I don't know how--a sort of glow into my heart, and up into my throat, my head; it came so violently that I sat down--I couldn't stand, I trembled so. But I longed to see him again, and presently I got up; he saw me then, and, just for play, he sent me a kiss from the tips of his fingers and--"
"And?"
"And then," she continued, "I hid myself--I was ashamed, but happy--why should I be ashamed of being happy? That feeling--it dazzled my soul and gave it some power, but I don't know what--it came again each time I saw within me the same young face. I loved this feeling, violent as it was. Going to mass, some unconquerable power made me look at Monsieur Savinien with his mother on his arm; his walk, his clothes, even the tap of his boots on the pavement, seemed to me so charming. The least little thing about him--his hand with the delicate glove--acted like a spell upon me; and yet I had strength enough not to think of him during mass. When the service was over I stayed in the church to let Madame de Portenduere go first, and then I walked behind him. I couldn't tell you how these little things excited me. When I reached home, I turned round to fasten the iron gate--"
"Where was La Bougival?" asked the doctor.
"Oh, I let her go to the kitchen," said Ursula simply. "Then I saw Monsieur Savinien standing quite still and looking at me. Oh! godfather, I was so proud, for I thought I saw a look in his eyes of surprise and admiration--I don't know what I would not do to make him look at me again like that. It seemed to me I ought to think of nothing forevermore but pleasing him. That glance is now the best reward I have for any good I do. From that moment I have thought of him incessantly, in spite of myself. Monsieur Savinien went back to Paris that evening, and I have not seen him since. The street seems empty; he took my heart away with him--but he does not know it."
"Is that all?" asked the old man.
"All, dear godfather," she said, with a sigh of regret that there was not more to tell.
