"Alas, you are a very silent man!" said she, presently, with a little sigh.
"Only thinking," I said.
"Of what?"
"Dieu! of the dead summer," I continued.
"Believe me, it does not pay to think," she interrupted. "I tried it once, and made a sad discovery."
"Of what?"
"A fool!" said she, laughing.
"I should think it—it might have been a coquette," said I, lightly.
"Why, upon my word," said she, "I believe you misjudge me. Do you think me heartless?"
For the first time I saw a shadow in her face.
"No; but you are young and—and beautiful, and—"
"What?" she broke in impatiently, as I hesitated. "I long to know."
"Men will love you in spite of all you can do," I added.
"Captain!" said she, turning her face away.
"Many will love you, and—and you can choose only one—a very hard thing to do—possibly."
