The call from La Seulière sounded out again in the still night. Mathurin said no word, but looked at his brother; he, ill at ease, excited by the recent discussion, understood the mute question, and answered promptly, in a manner that should show that he was free to do as he chose: "Very well. Yes, I am going." "I will go with you as far as the boat," responded the cripple. Toussaint Lumineau foresaw danger. "It is bad enough that your brother should be going to La Seulière," said he. "But for you, my poor boy, on no account would it do to go to their dance. It is cold out of doors. Do not go further than the duck meadow, and come back quickly." He followed with his eyes the cripple, who, in great haste, with the unnatural energy given him by emotion, raised himself on his crutches, hobbled the length of the table, down the steps, and following André, was lost in the night. His sons had gone; an icy wind blew in at the wide open door. Alas! how difficult it had become to govern the household! Sitting on the bench, his head on his arm, looking out into the dark farmyard, the old man pondered the things he had heard that night, and his powerlessness, despite his great love and long experience, to make himself obeyed, now that interest was lessening in the work of the old farmstead. But it was not long before he called to his daughter, busy at her work of washing up; the least word was such a relief in the empty rooms! "Rousille!" The girl opened the connecting door, and came, drying the plate in her hands without looking at him. "I am afraid that Mathurin may go back to see her----" "Oh, father, he would not do that. Besides, he cannot have his shoes, and he dare not appear at La Seulière" ... stooping, she searched under Mathurin's bed, then in the chest, then said as she rose: "Yes. He has taken them ... he must have put them on beforehand ... the first sound of the horn came at six o'clock." The old father began pacing the room with great strides, stopping uneasily from minute to minute to listen for the sound of crutches on the gravel that should announce Mathurin's return. CHAPTER XI. THE DANCE AT LA SEULIÈRE. Toussaint Lumineau's uneasiness was well founded. His two sons had gone down to the meadow, where the dyke, widening, served as a drinking place for the animals on the farm, and as a harbour for the two punts belonging to it. There André had offered no resistance when Mathurin had said: "Take me. I want to see Félicité." Venturesome, imprudent in things concerning himself, soldier of but yesterday, still impregnated with barrack maxims, he had merely said: "There's not a shadow of sense in it; but if it amuses you!" And he had chosen the best of the boats, and helped the cripple to stretch himself in the prow; then, standing on the raised part in the stern, and taking up the pole, had begun to punt, now pressing the iron point into the bed of the dyke, now into the bank on either side.