As Jean bent down to look into the open basket, it was not of the trout that he was thinking, but of the lovely fisherwoman by his side, whose golden head was so close to his own, and whose rosy cheek he would so much like to kiss. Yes, he would like to take her in his arms and bestow a kiss upon those laughing lips and those dancing eyes. Truly--and the thought came to him like a flash of lightning--this was the châtelaine of his castle in Spain, the golden lady of his dreams. "Well," said Gabrielle, with a provoking smile that made an alluring dimple in her cheek, "have you lost your tongue, or is it another meditation that you have begun, Monsieur the Hermit? But tell me what you think of my fish? I caught them myself--will you believe it?--and with this fly. See! Queen of the Waters." "Queen of the Waters," repeated Jean. "What a lovely creature! A sort of water nymph, with golden hair, blue eyes like the sky, a brown dress and rubber boots. _Mon Dieu_! What boots for a water nymph!" Gabrielle shut the basket with a snap. "Stupid!" she said. "I will not talk to you. You have lost your head." "Yes, Gabrielle, that is it. Lost, absolutely, and my heart as well." "Your heart, Jean, that is interesting. I did not know that you had a heart. And you have lost it? What a pity! Who has found it, I wonder? Who has it? What is her name? _Mon Dieu_, what is her name?" "Gabrielle!" "Well, go on, confess. It will do you good. You need it." "True," said Jean, very seriously. "That is just what I have done, and to you. Her name, it is Gabrielle. Do you, can you understand?" Gabrielle grew pale. "That will do, Jean. That goes too far. I will not allow jests of that sort. Good-bye. I must go home now to cook these trout for dinner." "But it is no jest--far from it. I love you, Gabrielle, to distraction; more than I can tell. Could you not----?" "No, Monsieur Giroux, I could not. And I beg of you never to speak to me like that again." "But why, Gabrielle, what reason?" "Do you wish to know, Monsieur Giroux? Do you really wish to know?" "Yes, certainly, Mademoiselle Taché." "Then you shall have it. Do you know what the neighbours say, what my father says, what I say? It is that you are a good-for-nothing, Jean Baptiste Giroux. Do you understand? A good-for-nothing! There, I have said it, and it is true." "Is that all, Gabrielle?" said Jean, in a steady voice. "All?" exclaimed Gabrielle, turning on him in a blaze of anger. "All? _Mon Dieu_! It is enough, I should think." With that she went away up the path, carrying her head very high, never once looking back to see the effect of this last crushing blow. But, strange to say, Jean did not seem to be crushed.