_July 30th_.
The calculation of probabilities is never more misleading than when it
has to do with the thoughts and feelings of a woman. After the painful
scene between Mlle. Marguerite and myself, I had not been very anxious
to encounter her. For two days I had not been to the chateau and I
scarcely expected that the resentment I had aroused in this proud
nature, would have subsided in this short interval. However, about
seven o'clock on the morning of the day before yesterday, when I was
working at the open window of my tower, I heard my name called out in a
most friendly way by the very person of whom I thought I had made an
enemy.
"M. Odiot, are you there?"
I went to the window and saw Mlle. Marguerite standing in the boat that
was kept by the bridge. She was holding back the brim of her brown
straw hat and looking up at my dark tower.
"Here I am, mademoiselle," I said eagerly.
"Are you coming out?"
After my well-founded apprehension of the last two days, so much
condescension made me think, to use the accepted formula, I was the dupe
of a disordered fancy.
"I beg your pardon.... What did you say?"
"Will you come out for a little with Alain, Mervyn, and me?"
"With pleasure, mademoiselle."
"Very well--bring your album."