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Rh "A poor girl must have friends."

"Yet you would drive me away."

"Ah, Master Dauban, do you believe all a poor girl says?" and she sighed and cast a languishing look on him.

"You hate me and wish never to see me again. You said so."

"Must every maiden wear her heart on her sleeve, Master Dauban, for you handsome gallants to trifle with?"

"My name is Jacques, by your leave."

"'Tis the sweetest of names;" and Lucette sighed and looked down; then started and dashed a look at him and cried as if in distress—"Go away, Master Dauban. You make me so—oh, I don't know how to say it. I feel—oh, do go away. You make me feel so serious and so—so sad. Ah me!"

"You say those things to Denys and Antoine—and others."

For answer Lucette fixed her eyes upon him reproachfully and then sighed again; and her eyes could speak in a language few men could read unmoved.

"I knew you were cruel, but—oh, do leave me."

His hand sought hers. She let him take it and returned the pressure of his fingers, which trembled.

"You have never met me in the wood, Lucette," he whispered.

"You have never asked me, Jacques. I never thought" and she faltered and broke down.

"Be there at set of sun this evening."

"No, no, I could not; I dare not. I could never do that—but I often walk there—Jacques."

"And this evening?" He was trembling again in his eagerness.

Her eyes said yes, the pressure of her tell-tale fingers confirmed it, and the sigh she gave sent him into an ecstasy.