Phœbus, dazzled by this skin with its gleams of satin, said to himself, "How can any one love anything but a fair skin?"
Both were silent. The young girl raised sweet, enraptured eyes to him from time to time, and their hair mingled in a ray of spring sunshine.
"Phœbus," said Fleur-de-Lys suddenly, in a low voice, "we are to be married three months hence; swear to me that you have never loved any other woman than myself."
"I swear it, fair angel!" replied Phœbus, and his passionate glances aided the sincere tone of his voice in convincing Fleur-de-Lys.
Meanwhile, the good mother, charmed to see the betrothed pair on terms of such perfect understanding, had just quitted the apartment to attend to some domestic matter; Phœbus observed it, and this so emboldened the adventurous captain that very strange ideas mounted to his brain. Fleur-de-Lys loved him, he was her betrothed; she was alone with him; his former taste for her had re-awakened, not with all its freshness but with all its ardor; after all, there is no great harm in tasting one's wheat while it is still in the blade; I do not know whether these ideas passed through his mind, but one thing is certain, that Fleur-de Lys was suddenly alarmed by the expression of his glance. She looked round and saw that her mother was no longer there.
"Good heavens!" said she, blushing and uneasy, "how very warm I am?"
"I think, in fact," replied Phœbus, "that it cannot be far from midday. The sun is troublesome. We need only lower the curtains."
"No, no," exclaimed the poor little thing, "on the contrary, I need air."
And like a fawn who feels the breath of the pack of hounds, she rose, ran to the window, opened it, and rushed upon the balcony.
Phœbus, much discomfited, followed her.
The Place du Parvis Notre-Dame, upon which the balcony looked, as the reader knows, presented at that moment a
