Mauprat
near the fire and amusing herself by pulling out the petals of the blue and white asters which I had gathered during a walk to the tomb of Jean Jacques Rousseau. These flowers brought back to me a night of ecstasy, under the clear moonlight, the only hours of happiness, perhaps, that I could mention in all my life.
"Back already?" she said, without any change of attitude.
"Already is an unkind word," I replied. "Would you like me to retire to my room, Edmée?"
"By no means; you are not disturbing me at all; but you would have derived more profit from seeing Mérope than from listening to my conversation this evening; for I warn you that I feel a complete idiot."
"So much the better, cousin; I shall not feel humiliated this evening, since for the first time we shall be upon a footing of equality. But, might I ask why you so despise my asters? I thought that you would probably keep them as a souvenir."
"Of Rousseau?" she asked with a malicious little smile, and without raising her eyes to mine.
"Naturally that was my meaning," I answered.
"I am playing a most interesting game," she said; "do not interrupt me."
"I know it," I said. "All the children in Varenne play it, and there is not a lass but believes in the decree of fate that it reveals. Would you like me to read your thoughts as you pull out these petals four by four?"
"Come, then, O mighty magician!"
"A little, that is how some one loves you; much, that is how you love him; passionately, that is how another loves you; not at all, thus do you love this other."
"And might I inquire, Sir Oracle," replied Edmée,
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