"Infirm? No," said François; "she is not old enough to be infirm." "Then is she still young?" asked Jeannette Vertaud, beginning to prick up her ears. "Oh! no, she is not young," answered François, simply. "I do not remember how old she is now. She was a mother to me, and I never thought of her age." "Was she attractive?" asked Jeannette, after hesitating a moment before putting the question. "Attractive?" said François, with some surprise; "do you mean to ask if she is a pretty woman? She is pretty enough for me just as she is; but to tell the truth, I never thought of that. What difference can it make in my affection for her? She might be as ugly as the devil, without my finding it out." "But cannot you tell me about how old she is?" "Wait a minute. Her son was five years younger than I. Well! She is not old, but she is not very young; she is about like--" "Like me?" said Jeannette, making a slight effort to laugh. "In that case, if she becomes a widow, it will be too late for her to marry again, will it not?" "That depends on circumstances," replied François. "If her husband has not wasted all the property, she would have plenty of suitors. There are fellows, who would marry their great-aunts as wittingly as their great-nieces, for money." "Then you have no esteem for those who marry for money?" "I could not do it," answered François. Simple-hearted as the waif was, he was no such simpleton as not to understand the insinuations which had been made him, and he did not speak without meaning. But Jeannette would not take the hint, and fell still deeper in love with him. She had had many admirers, without paying attention to any of them, and now the only one who pleased her, turned his back on her. Such is the logical temper of a woman's mind. François observed during the following days that she had something on her mind, for she ate scarcely anything, and her eyes were always fixed on him, whenever she thought he was not looking. Her attachment pained him. He respected this good woman, and saw that the more indifferent he appeared, the more she cared about him; but he had no fancy for her, and if he had tried to cultivate such a feeling, it would have been the result of duty and principle rather than of spontaneous affection. He reflected that he could not stay much longer with Jean Vertaud, because he knew that, sooner or later, such a condition of affairs must necessarily give rise to some unfortunate difference. Just at this time, however, an incident befell which changed the current of his thoughts. [Illustration] CHAPTER XIV