Part 25 (2/2)
”Our n.o.bles of Le Bocage would not have done such a thing,” said the _Boquin_, throwing back his head.
”Besides,” resumed Rousille, ”since Francois left us nothing goes right. Driot is inconsolable at his absence.”
”Even now?”
”Even now. We thought him so lively when he first came home. Well, this evening he actually cried. Why could it have been? Was it fear that the farm would be sold over our heads? Was it anything else?
With him one never knows.”
”Perhaps he is thinking of a sweetheart about here?”
”I wish indeed it were so, Jean, for his sake and ours, because his marriage would be the signal for our own. You see, all our hope is in Andre. I have thought many a time, indeed why not tell you--every day since the one on which you went: If Andre does not marry, my poor Jean, I shall be quite white-haired before our banns are published in your church and mine. Father will not let me go unless there is a housekeeper here to take my place. And as for our coming to live here with Mathurin--he hates us both too much. There would be bad blood at La Fromentiere. Father would never put us on the farm with Mathurin.”
”Does he ever speak of me when he is ploughing?” asked Jean.
”I never go into the fields,” replied Rousille. ”But one evening I heard him say to my eldest brother, 'Do not speak ill of the _Boquin_, Lumineau! I refused him my daughter, and in that I did well; but he was a good worker, he had a love for soil.'”
Behind the iron bar the face of the former farm-hand coloured with pride.
”It is true that I loved everything about the place for your sake, Rousille. And so Andre will not marry?”
”I do not say that. He is still in such low spirits; but time will cure that. We shall have him on our side, that good Andre; he spoke so kindly to me the day of the letter. He promised to help me; but did not explain in what way.”
”Did he mean soon?”
”I think so,” said Rousille, ”for his manner was very decided, and he was very sure about the step he was going to take.”
Suddenly she lowered her voice--”Did you hear that?” she asked.
”No, nothing.”
”Something moved in the bakery.”
”Look at me, Rousille. Nothing moved,” returned Jean.
Obedient, victorious over all fear for love of him, she bent once more towards the window, even began to laugh as she said:
”It is easy to see that you have no fear of anything. Where were you hidden, just now, before I opened the shutter?”
”Among the layers of straw. The wind was as keen as on one of my worst wild-fowl expeditions; it stupefied me, and seeing no light I must have fallen asleep for a while.”
”Really? and what woke you?”
”Bas-Rouge, going after your farm-servant.”
”Going after the farm-servant?” exclaimed Rousille in astonishment. ”I heard the dog bark, but I thought he was after a tramp, there are so many about on these roads; or that he had recognised you----”
”You know very well, Rousille, that he never barks at me, since I used to take him out with me when I went shooting. No, I am certain that it was the farm-servant.... I heard the latch fall, and the distinct sound of footsteps on the gravel at the back of the house. I tell you it was the servant, or else your brother.... I am convinced that a man went out from here.”
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