While yet some distance off she laughed at seeing them. Then she cried: "Is everything going as you like it?" And in unison they asked: "Are you getting on all right?" Then she conversed, talked to them of simple things in which they felt an interest--of the weather, of the crops, and of her master. They were afraid to offer her the candies, which were slowly melting away in Jean's pocket. At last Luc grew bold, and murmured: "We have brought you something." She demanded, "What is it? Tell me!" Then Jean, blushing up to his ears, managed to get at the little paper cornucopia, and held it out. She began to eat the little bonbons, rolling them from one cheek to the other where they made little round lumps. The two soldiers, seated before her, gazed at her with emotion and delight. Then she went to milk her cow, and once more gave them some milk on coming back. They thought of her all the week; several times they even spoke of her. The next Sunday she sat down with them for a little longer talk; and all three, seated side by side, their eyes lost in the distance, clasping their knees with their hands, told the small doings, the minute details of life in the villages where they had been born, while over there the cow, seeing that the milkmaid had stopped on her way, stretched out toward her its heavy head with its dripping nostrils, and gave a long low to call her. Soon the girl consented to eat a bit of bread with them and drink a mouthful of wine. She often brought them plums in her pocket, for the season of plums had come. Her presence sharpened the wits of the two little Breton soldiers, and they chattered like two birds. But, one Tuesday, Luc le Ganidec asked for leave--a thing which had never happened before--and he did not return until ten o'clock at night. Jean racked his brains uneasily for a reason for his comrade's going out in this way. The next Thursday Luc, having borrowed ten sous from his bedfellow, again asked and obtained permission to leave the barracks for several hours. When he set off with Jean on their Sunday walk his manner was very queer, quite restless, and quite changed. Kerderen did not understand, but he vaguely suspected something without divining what it could be. They did not say a word to one another until they reached their usual halting-place, where, from their constant sitting in the same spot the grass was quite worn away. They ate their breakfast slowly. Neither of them felt hungry. Before long the girl appeared. As on every Sunday, they watched her coming. When she was quite near, Luc rose and made two steps forward. She put her milk-pail on the ground and kissed him. She kissed him passionately, throwing her arms about his neck, without noticing Jean, without remembering that he was there, without even seeing him.