ting my daughter grow up in the same way...."
There was, in these words, a hint of marriage plans. Rose perceived it at once.
"I'm quite all right as I am," she said, "and so is Robinvast."
"Vain little creature!"
"Don't you agree with me?" said Rose, turning to M. Hervart with a laugh that palliated the boldness of her question.
"About yourself, most certainly."
"Oh, there's nothing more to be done with me. The harm's done already; I'm a savage. I'm thinking of the wildness of Robinvast; I like it and it suits my wildness."
"All the same," said M. Hervart, whose hands were covered with scratches, "there are a lot of brambles in the wood. I've never seen such fine ones, shoots like tropical creepers, like huge snakes...."
"I never scratch myself," said Rose.
But it was not without a feeling of satisfaction that she looked at M. Hervart's hands, which were scarred with picking blackberries for her. She whispered to him:
"I'm as cruel as the brambles."
