She unfastened the bouquet of white starry woodruff from her corsage, and
handed them over to him in their envelope of green leaves.

"Do you know them?" said she; "see how sweet they smell! And the odor
increases as they wither."

Julien had carried the bouquet to his lips, and was inhaling slowly the
delicate perfume.

"Our woodsmen," she continued, "make with this plant a broth which cures
from ill effects of either cold or heat as if by enchantment; they also
infuse it into white wine, and convert it into a beverage which they call
May wine, and which is very intoxicating."

Julien was no longer listening to these details. He kept his eyes
steadily fixed on Mademoiselle Vincart, and continued to inhale
rapturously the bouquet, and to experience a kind of intoxication.

"Let me keep these flowers," he implored, in a choking voice.

"Certainly," replied she, gayly; "keep them, if it will give you
pleasure."

"Thank you," he murmured, hiding them in his bosom.

Reine was surprised at his attaching such exaggerated importance to so
slight a favor, and a sudden flush overspread her cheeks. She almost
repented having given him the flowers when she saw what a tender
reception he had given them, so she replied, suggestively: