The clock struck six; that was the time when the people at the farm assembled to partake gayly of their simple but substantial meal, seasoned always by appetite. Guillot appeared, bringing wood according to his custom. Sans-Souci entered the living room humming a ballad, and Jacques deposited in a corner the instruments of toil. The farmer examined the young lady with the stupid expression which was habitual with him; Jacques bowed and took his seat without paying much attention to Adeline, while she, as she glanced at the newcomers, tried to remember an incident long ago dispelled from her memory. They took their places at the table; Jacques was seated beside Adeline, who was surprised by his courtesy, by his frank manners, and by his gentleness with the children. From time to time she cast a glance at that stern face, adorned with heavy moustaches, and bearing the scars of several wounds. Jacques did not notice the young lady’s scrutiny; it was impossible for him to recognize her whom he had seen but once, through the gate of a garden, and to whom he had paid little heed. But as she gazed at Jacques’s face and especially at his enormous moustaches, Adeline remembered the place where she had seen him, and she could not restrain an exclamation of surprise. “What! can it be you, monsieur? Ah! I knew that I had seen you before.” “Does madame refer to me?” said Jacques in amazement. “Yes, monsieur, it is surely you; I am certain now.” “Do you know my comrade, madame?” said Sans-Souci; “if you do, you know a fine, honest fellow.” “I don’t doubt it, and yet monsieur frightened me terribly.” “Frightened you, madame; I am very sorry; but how could I have done it?” “Do you remember a certain day when you went to Villeneuve-Saint-Georges, about sixteen months ago? You stood for a long time at the gate of a garden; that barred gate, partly covered with boards, made it impossible to see anything from the garden except your face, and I confess that your eyes, your scars and your moustaches frightened me terribly.” “What!” said Jacques, after examining Adeline with interest, “you were in that garden?” “Yes, monsieur, it is the garden of my house. But at that time, I was visiting it for the first time with my mother and my husband.” Jacques made no reply; he became gloomy and thoughtful; he passed his hand across his forehead, toyed with his moustaches, and uttered a profound sigh. “Well,” said Guillot, after drinking a large glass of wine, “that shows that it don’t make any difference, and although a face may be or not,--and I say that it ain’t always a moustache behind a gate that does it; for you see, that when a person is frightened at things like that--why that’s how it is----” “That’s all right, my man,” said the farmer’s wife, cutting short Guillot’s eloquence; “but if madame had seen that cross of honor on our friend Jacques’s stomach, I guess she wouldn’t have been afraid.”