Gabrielle sank upon the bench. She still trembled in all her limbs. Removing her white cap, which was disarranged, her beautiful dark hair fell in waves down her back and touched the seat she occupied. The fear which had distended her eyes had now deserted them, and the irises recovered their usual soft and dewy light. The peachy colour also returned to cheeks that had been blanched, but the delicate rosy lips still quivered with excitement. Clasping her hands on her lap, and shaking the locks from her temples, she looked up beseechingly at her father, and said, in gentle entreaty,-- ‘My father! Let me not go to the château again.’ ‘Tell me what took place.’ ‘It was M. Berthier, my father. You know how I have feared him. Why did you send me to the château?’ ‘Go on, child.’ She suddenly clasped her hands over her brow, threw her head forward, and resting her elbows on her lap, said:--‘Promise me! I am not to go near that place again.’ ‘Is time so common an article that I can afford to waste it thus?’ exclaimed André. ‘Go on with your story, or I shall return to littering the cow-stall.’ ‘My father!’ ‘Well!’ ‘I am not to go there again!’ With a curse the peasant flung himself towards his fork, tore it out of the ground, and recommenced his work. He continued carrying into the cow-shed bundles of straw and spreading them, with apparent forgetfulness of his daughter, and indifference to her trouble. She remained with her head in her hands, crying. Lebertre spoke to her, but her grief had now obtained the mastery over her, and she could not answer him. ‘Let her cry herself out,’ said Lindet. After the first paroxysm was over, she sprang up, ran to her father, cast her arms about him, and placing her chin upon his breast, looked up into his eyes. This was an old trick of hers. Matthias never looked any one in the face, and when his daughter wished to meet his gaze, she acted thus. ‘I will tell you all now,’ she said. ‘Come, sit by me on the bench.’ ‘I have no time at present,’ he answered, sullenly. ‘Besides, I can guess a great deal.’ ‘You shall listen to me,’ said the girl; ‘I will not let you go till you have heard everything.’ She removed the manure-fork from his hand, and led him to the door of the cow-shed. He would not go farther, he would not seat himself beside her, as she had asked. He yielded to her request in one particular, but not in another. It was his way,--his pride, to do whatever he was asked with a bad grace. He supported himself against one side-post, with his head down, and the knuckle of his forefinger between his teeth; she leaned against the other jamb.