The following morning, towards noon, when Gouvernail quitted his room, he was confronted by Athénaïse, exhibiting some confusion and at being forced to request a favor of him at so early a stage of their acquaintance. She stood in her , and had evidently been sewing, as the thimble on her finger testified, as well as a long-threaded needle thrust in 82the of her gown. She held a stamped but unaddressed letter in her hand.  
And would Mr. Gouvernail be so kind as to address the letter to her brother, Mr. Montéclin Miché? She would hate to detain him with explanations this morning,—another time, perhaps,—but now she begged that he would give himself the trouble.
 
He assured her that it made no difference, that it was no trouble whatever; and he drew a fountain pen from his pocket and addressed the letter at her dictation, resting it on the of his straw hat. She wondered a little at a man of his supposed erudition stumbling over the spelling of “Montéclin” and “Miché.”
 
She at overwhelming him with the additional trouble of posting it, but he succeeded in convincing her that so simple a task as the posting of a letter would not add an to the burden of the day. Moreover, he promised to carry it in his hand, and thus avoid any possible risk of forgetting it in his pocket.
 
After that, and after a second repetition of the favor, when she had told him that she had had a letter from Montéclin, and looked as if 83she wanted to tell him more, he felt that he knew her better. He felt that he knew her well enough to join her out on the balcony, one night, when he found her sitting there alone. He was not one who sought the society of women, but he was not wholly a bear. A little for Athénaïse’s aloneness, perhaps some curiosity to know further what manner of woman she was, and the natural influence of her feminine charm were equal unconfessed factors in turning his steps towards the balcony when he discovered the of her white gown through the open hall window.
 
It was already quite late, but the day had been intensely hot, and neighboring balconies and were occupied by groups of humanity, to abandon the grateful freshness of the outer air. The voices about her served to reveal to Athénaïse the feeling of loneliness that was gradually coming over her. Notwithstanding certain impulses, she human sympathy and companionship.
 
She shook hands with Gouvernail, and told him how glad she was to see 84him. He was not prepared for such an admission, but it pleased him immensely, detecting as he did that the expression was as sincere as it was . He drew a chair up within comfortable distance of Athénaïse, though he had no intention of talking more than was barely necessary to encourage Madame— He had actually forgotten her name!
 
He leaned an elbow on the balcony rail, and would have offered an opening remark about the oppressive heat of the day, but Athénaïse did not give him the opportunity. How glad she was to talk to some one, and how she talked!
 
An hour later she had gone to her room, and Gouvernail stayed smoking on the balcony. He knew her quite well after that hour’s talk. It was not so much what she had said as what her half saying had revealed to his quick intelligence. He knew that she adored Montéclin, and he suspected that she adored Cazeau without being herself aware of it. He had gathered that she was self-willed, , innocent, ignorant, unsatisfied, dissatisfied; for had she not complained that things seemed all 85wrongly arranged in this world, and no one was permitted to be happy in his own way? And he told her he was sorry she had discovered that fact of existence so early in life.
 
He her loneliness, and scanned his bookshelves next morning for something to lend her to read, rejecting everything that offered itself to his view: Philosophy was out of the question, and so was poetry; that is, such poetry as he . He had not sounded her literary tastes, and strongly suspected she had none; that she would have rejected The Duchess as readily as Mrs. Humphry . He compromised on a magazine.
 
It had entertained her passably, she admitted, upon returning it. A New England story had puzzled her, it was true, and a Creole tale had offended her, but the pictures had pleased her greatly, especially one which had reminded her so strongly of Montéclin after a hard day’s ride that she was loath to give it up. It was one of Remington’s Cowboys, and Gouvernail insisted upon her keeping it,—keeping the magazine.
 
86He to her daily after that, and was always eager to render her some service or to do something towards her entertainment.
 
One afternoon he took her out to the lake end. She had been there once, some years before, but in winter, so the trip was comparatively new and strange to her. The large expanse of water............