Suddenly the branches were pushed aside, a dark head emerging from the total darkness was framed in the window between the wall and the iron bar. The face was pale, but the eyes laughing, half-closed, dazzled by the candle-flame. "I thought," said Jean Nesmy, "that you were not coming. I was chilled to the bone. I was going!" He looked so radiant as he said it, his eyes gradually opening, revealing the rapture of perfect delight. Rousille, more grave, for she had within her the recollection of her past meditations, said: "We must talk quickly. Father has only just fallen asleep. If he were to awake! If he were to come upon us!" But Jean Nesmy seemed in nowise to share her fears. Nor did he look about the room to see if all was in order. He only looked at Rousille, so agitated under her little coif. The light placed between them illuminated their eyes to the very depths. "You are as pretty as ever," replied the lad. "One might well walk miles to catch a sight of you! Mother Nesmy did not want me to come on account of the expense; but I said to her: 'I would rather go without my bread,' and it was true, my Rousille." She could not help smiling. "You always know how to pay compliments, Jean Nesmy; and really I see no change in you." "There is none," he returned, showing his white teeth. And now she forgot all her previous uneasiness, and it seemed to them both, as though they had never been apart, so natural was the interchange of ideas; the candle quivered under the mutual stream of question and answer. "Tell me, Rousille, how are things going? Are you happy?" "Not very. At La Fromentière we have more sorrow than happiness. Now, as you know, our master the Marquis has had all his furniture sold. Such a pity!" "Our nobles of Le Bocage would not have done such a thing," said the _Boquin_, throwing back his head. "Besides," resumed Rousille, "since François 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 André. I have thought many a time, indeed why not tell you--every day since the one on which you went: If André 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 Fromentière. Father would never put us on the farm with Mathurin." "Does he ever speak of me when he is ploughing?" asked Jean.