Chapter XI

'I'll bet you sixpence she won't turn up to-day,' he said to his friend in the glass, next morning; nevertheless he went into the forest, and there she was. But she did not offer to dismount.

'Isn't there another inference to be drawn from my inability to lie to you?' he asked.

She smiled on him from her saddle. 'Oh, perhaps there are a hundred.'

'Don't you think a reasonable inference is that--I love you?'

She laughed.

'You know I love you,' he persisted.

'Oh, the conventions of the game! the necesary formula, like "Dear" at the beginning of a letter!' she cried.

'You don't believe me?'

'_Qui m'aime me suive_,' she said, spurring Bézigue into a rapid trot.