Her eyes were soft and grave, and there was the faintest of smiles upon her resolute lips. Then she fell into a fever of remorse for the habit of bad language she had acquired. ‘Dieu du ciel, for what do you take me?’ ‘I don’t know,’ he threw at her. As a matter of fact it isn’t their affair. It takes too many years to climb even a step in the social ladder. She ought to have leapt back on guard. Papa has sent me to be religieuse. He would always be her friend, too. Crossing several fields, newly mown, or filled with lines of tedded hay, she arrived, not without great exertion, at the summit of a hill.
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