He got up, full of jealousy; he ran, then slowed down, listening for possible words, questioning the silence. Without his knowing exactly why, Rose's laugh, heard through the leaves of the wood, reassured him. He saw Leonor stoop down and rise again holding a little pink flower in his hand.
"_Sherardia arvensis_," he said, taking the flower. "It has no business to grow here. Its place is in the field next door. _Arvensis_, you see, _arvensis_. But there are lots of plants that lose their way."
"He knows everything," said Rose. "You see, he knows everything."
Leonor, who had understood the allusion, did not answer. He walked away, under the pretense of continuing his botanical researches in the wood.
"If love were born at this moment in my heart, it would be most untimely, it would have chosen its place very unfortunately. Does he love as he is loved? That is what I should like to know. Is he capable of perseverance? Who knows? It may be, Rose, that you will one day lie weeping in my arms."
All three of them made their way back, Leonor walking a little ahead. M. Hervart kept silence, for what he had to say demanded secrecy, and commonplace words were impossible. Rose did not notice the silence; she herself did not think of talking. She was happy, walking dose to her lover. Sometimes, furtively she stretched out her hand and squeezed one of his fingers. M. Hervart allowed his left arm to hang limply on purpose. Leonor did not turn round once, and Rose was grateful to him for that. M. Hervart, who felt that his secret had been guessed, would have preferred a less deliberate, a less suspicious discretion.
"What have these architects come to do here?" he wondered. "It looks as though it had all been arranged by the Des Boys with a view to getting off their daughter. Will they come back? Leonor certainly will. And shall I be able to stay?"
His perplexities began again. When Rose's hand touched his own, he felt himself her prisoner, her happy slave. As soon as the contact was removed, he was seized by ideas of flight and liberty. He would like to have called Leonor, flung Rose into his arms and made off across country.
"I have never been so much disturbed by any amour. It's the question of marriage. What complications! I hate this fellow Leonor. But for him.... But for him? But is he the only man in the world? If I don't take her, it will be somebody else." Suddenly he drew closer to Rose and whispered frenziedly in her ear a stream of tender and violent words, "Rose, I love you, I desire you with all my being, I want you."