Part 4 (2/2)
”Oh, yes, I remember,” she answered, laughing, ”that year seemed to me longer than any other.”
”I am the eldest; then come two girls, who are growing up. They are not dressed altogether like you, for instance....”
An idea seized him, and with his hand quite near yet without touching Rousille, he sketched about the young girl's shoulders and waist, the little shawl and the long velvet ribbons encircling the bust. ”All round there two rows of velvet; rich girls have even three. You would be charming, Rousille, in the costume of the Chatelliers and La Flocelliere, for they dress in the same manner, the villages are quite close.”
She laughed, as if caressed by the hand which never touched her, following its action with half-closed eyes.
”As you may suppose,” he continued, ”they only dress like that on Sundays! There would not be bread in the house every day if I did not send home the wages that your father gives me. Then I have two brothers who have finished their schooling, and look after cows and begin to do little odd jobs. The farmer who hires them gives them each one row of potatoes to dig up for their own. It is a great help!”
”So I should think!” returned Rousille, with an air of conviction
”But above all,” continued the lad, ”our air is superb. We have plenty of rain, indeed it rains without ceasing when the wind blows from Saint Michael, a place about one league from us. But immediately after we are in full suns.h.i.+ne; and as we have plenty of trees and moss and ferns about us, the air is a very joy to breathe, quite different from here; for our country is not at all like that of the Marais; it is all hills, here, there, and everywhere, big and little; there is no getting away from them. From any height it looks a perfect paradise.
Ah, Rousille, if you only knew Le Bocage, and the moors of Nouzillac, you would never want to leave them!”
”And is the land tilled like this?”
”Very nearly, but much deeper. It takes strong oxen, sometimes six or eight to plough.”
”Father uses as many, when it pleases him.”
”Yes, for the honour of it, Rousille, because your father is a rich man. But down there, believe me, the soil has more granite and is harder to turn.”
She hesitated a little, the smile left her face as she asked:
”Do the women work in the fields?”
”Oh, no, of course not,” answered the lad warmly. ”We respect and care for them as much as men do here in your Marais. Even my mother, who goes gleaning at harvest-time and when the chestnuts are gathered, is never seen working in the fields like a man. No, you may depend on it, our women are more indoors spinning, than doing out-of-door work.”
Recalled to the stern conditions of his daily life, the young man grew grave, and added slowly:
”Rest a.s.sured, I will never slacken in my work. I am known for more than two leagues round Chatelliers as a lad who has no fear of hard work. We will have our own little house to ourselves, and if only I have your love, Rousille, like my father and mother, I will never complain of any hards.h.i.+ps.”
He had scarcely ended his speech of humble love-making when a voice from the road called:
”Rousille!”
”We are betrayed!” she said, turning pale. ”It is father.”
They both remained motionless, with beating hearts, thinking only of the voice that would call again.
And, in truth, it was now heard nearer.
”Rousille!”
She did not resist. Signing to Jean Nesmy to remain under cover of the trees, and bending half double, she made her way out to the path that divided the orchard. There straightening herself, she saw her father standing before her in the road. He looked at his daughter for a moment, as she presented herself, pale, breathless, dishevelled by the branches, then said:
<script>