She roused herself to utter this exclamation with energy. M. Hervart felt no further indecision. Furthermore, he began almost at once to give a new direction to his thoughts. He wanted something to eat; Rose acquiesced. As she was slow in getting up he wanted to pick her up in his arms; but his arms, grown strangely weak, were unequal to the light burden. M. Hervart felt, too, that his legs were not as solid as they might have been. He would have liked to eat and at the same time to lie down in the grass. He let himself fall back on the bench.
"You look so tired," said Rose, inventing every kind of tenderness. "Stay here, I'll bring you some cakes and wine."
But he refused and they went back together.
Cheered by a little sherry and some brioches, M. Hervart asked for music. Rose, inexpert though she was, soothed her lover with all the melodies he desired. She even sang to him. The songs were all romances.
"Joys of the young couple," he said to himself, half dozing. "A picture by Greuze. Nothing is lacking except the little spaniel dog and the paternal old man looking in at the window and shedding a few quiet tears 'inspired by memory' at the sight of this ravishing scene. There, I'm laughing at myself, so that I can't be quite so badly done for as might have been thought. Not so close a prisoner, either."
"Go and see my father," said Rose, leaving a verse half sung. "I'll come and find you there later."
"More and more conjugal, for I shall obey her after having, of course, gone over: I kissed her in the neck. Dear child, she's waiting for the surprise, shivering at it already...."
Everything went off as M. Hervart had predicted, but there was something more. Rose turned round and said, after offering her lips:
"Go along, my darling, and mind you admire his painting a lot, more than yesterday."
"How charming it all is!" he said to himself as he knocked at the studio door. "Delightful family conspiracies. Shall I be able to play this part for long? Suppose I announce my intentions to my venerable friend. Obviously there can be no more hesitation. Come on!"
They talked of Ste. Clotilde. M. Hervart was loud in his praise both of the historical knowledge as well as the pictorial skill of the master of Robinvast, and at every word he uttered he felt a longing to make the conversation touch on the conjugal virtues of that honourable queen. Then the desire passed.