"You have a telephone, I suppose," said Bidiane, in an eminently practical tone of voice.
"Yes, I have," and he relapsed into silence.
"Here we are together, we three," said Bidiane, impulsively. "How I wish that Mr. Nimmo could see us."
Rose lost some of her beautiful color. These continual references to her lover were very trying. "I will leave you two to amuse each other for a few minutes, while I go and ask Celina to make us some tea _a l"anglaise_."
"I should not have said that," exclaimed Bidiane, gazing after her; "how easy it is to talk too much. Each night, when I go to bed, I lie awake thinking of all the foolish things I have said during the day, and I con over sensible speeches that I might have uttered. I suppose you never do that?"
"Why not, mademoiselle?"
"Oh, because you are older, and because you are so clever. Really, I am quite afraid of you," and she demurely glanced at him from under her curly eyelashes.
"Once you were not afraid," he remarked, cautiously.
"No; but now you must be very learned."
"I always was fond of study."
"Mr. Nimmo says that some day you will be a judge, and then probably you will write a book. Will you?"
"Some day, perhaps. At present, I only write short articles for magazines and newspapers."
"How charming! What are they about?"
"They are mostly Acadien and historical."
"Do you ever write stories--love stories?"
"Sometimes, mademoiselle."
"Delicious! May I read them?"
"I do not know," and he smiled. "You would probably be too much amused.
You would think they were true."
"And are they not?"
"Oh, no, although some have a slight foundation of fact."
Bidiane stared curiously at him, opened her lips, closed them again, set her small white teeth firmly, as if bidding them stand guard over some audacious thought, then at last burst out with it, for she was still excited and animated by her journey, and was bubbling over with delight at being released from the espionage of strangers to whom she could not talk freely. "You have been in love, of course?"
Agapit modestly looked at his boots.
"You find me unconventional," cried Bidiane, in alarm. "Mrs. Nimmo says I will never get over it. I do not know what I shall do,--but here, at least, on the Bay, I thought it would not so much matter. Really, it was a consolation in leaving Paris."
"Mademoiselle, it is not that," he said, hesitatingly. "I a.s.sure you, the question has been asked before, with not so much delicacy--But with whom should I fall in love?"
"With any one. It must be a horrible sensation. I have never felt it, but I cry very often over tales of lovers. Possibly you are like Madame de Foret, you do not care to marry."
"Perhaps I am waiting until she does, mademoiselle."
"I suppose you could not tell me," she said, in the dainty, coaxing tones of a child, "what it is that separates your cousin from Mr.
Nimmo?"
"No, mademoiselle, I regret to say that I cannot."
"Is it something she can ever get over?"
"Possibly."
"You don"t want to be teased about it. I will talk of something else; people don"t marry very often after they are thirty. That is the dividing line."
Agapit dragged at his mustache with restless fingers.
"You are laughing at me, you find me amusing," she said, with a sharp look at him. "I a.s.sure you I don"t mind being laughed at. I hate dull people--oh, I must ask you if you know that I am quite Acadien now?"
"Rose has told me something of it."
"Yes, I know. She says that you read my letters, and I think it is perfectly sweet in you. I know what you have done for me. I know, you need not try to conceal it. It was you that urged Mr. Nimmo not to give me up, it is to you that I am indebted for my glimpse of the world. I a.s.sure you I am grateful. That is why I speak so freely to you. You are a friend and also a relative. May we not call ourselves cousins?"
"Certainly, mademoiselle,--I am honored," said Agapit, in a stumbling voice.
"You are not used to me yet. I overcome you, but wait a little, you will not mind my peculiarities, and let me tell you that if there is anything I can do for you, I shall be so glad. I could copy papers or write letters. I am only a mouse and you are a lion, yet perhaps I could bite your net a little."
Agapit straightened himself, and stepped out rather more boldly as they went to and fro over the gra.s.s.
"I seem only like a prattling, silly girl to you," she said, humbly, "yet I have a little sense, and I can write a good hand--a good round hand. I often used to a.s.sist Mr. Nimmo in copying pa.s.sages from books."
Agapit felt like a hero. "Some day, mademoiselle, I may apply to you for a.s.sistance. In the meantime, I thank you."
They continued their slow walk to and fro. Sometimes they looked across the river to the village, but mostly they looked at each other, and Agapit, with acute pleasure, basked in the light of Bidiane"s admiring glances.
"You have always stayed here," she exclaimed; "you did not desert your dear Bay as I did."
"But for a short time only. You remember that I was at Laval University in Quebec."
"Oh, yes, I forgot that. Madame de Foret wrote me. Do you know, I thought that perhaps you would not come back. However, Mr. Nimmo was not surprised that you did."
"There are a great many young men out in the world, mademoiselle. I found few people who were interested in me. This is my home, and is not one"s home the best place to earn one"s living?"
"Yes; and also you did not wish to go too far away from your cousin. I know your devotion, it is quite romantic. She adores you, I easily saw that in her letters. Do you know, I imagined"--and she lowered her voice, and glanced over her shoulder--"that Mr. Nimmo wrote to her, because he never seemed curious about my letters from her."
"That is Mr. Nimmo"s way, mademoiselle."
"It is a pity that they do not write. It would be such a pleasure to them both. I know that. They cannot deceive me."
"But she is not engaged to him."