“Well! tell me who he is,” she said. For a moment he lingered before her erect, then, shrugging his shoulders, said: “What’s the good, since you decline?” “No matter, I want to know,” she replied. “How can I make up my mind when I don’t know?” He did not answer her immediately, but remained standing there, gazing into her face. A somewhat sad smile wreathed his lips. At last he exclaimed, almost in a whisper: “What! have you not guessed?” No, she could not guess. She tried to do so, with increasing wonder, whereupon he made a simple sign—nodding his head in the direction of the dining-room. “He!” she exclaimed, in a muffled tone, and a great seriousness fell upon her. She no longer indulged in violent protestations; only sorrow and surprise remained visible on her face. She sat for a long time plunged in thought, her gaze turned to the floor. Truly, she had never dreamed of such a thing; and yet, she found nothing in it to object to. Monsieur Rambaud was the only man in whose hand she could put her own honestly and without fear. She knew his innate goodness; she did not smile at his _bourgeois_ heaviness. But despite all her regard for him, the idea that he loved her chilled her to the soul. Meanwhile the Abbé had again begun walking from one to the other end of the room, and on passing the dining-room door he gently called Hélène. “Come here and look!” She rose and did as he wished. Monsieur Rambaud had ended by seating Jeanne in his own chair; and he, who had at first been leaning against the table, had now slipped down at the child’s feet. He was on his knees before her, encircling her with one of his arms. On the table was the carriage drawn by the chicken, with some boats, boxes, and bishops’ mitres. “Now, do you love me well?” he asked her. “Tell me that you love me well!” “Of course, I love you well; you know it.” He stammered and trembled, as though he were making some declaration of love. “And what would you say if I asked you to let me stay here with you always?” “Oh, I should be quite pleased. We would play together, wouldn’t we? That would be good fun.” “Ah, but you know I should always be here.” Jeanne had taken up a boat which she was twisting into a gendarme’s hat. “You would need to get mamma’s leave,” she murmured. By this reply all his fears were again stirred into life. His fate was being decided. “Of course,” said he. “But if mamma gave me leave, would you say yes, too?” Jeanne, busy finishing her gendarme’s hat, sang out in a rapturous strain: “I would say yes! yes! yes! I would say yes! yes! yes! Come, look how pretty my hat is!” Monsieur Rambaud, with tears in his eyes, rose to his knees and kissed her, while she threw her arms round his neck. He had entrusted the asking of Hélène’s consent to his brother, whilst he himself sought to secure that of Jeanne. “You see,” said the priest, with a smile, “the child is quite content.”