"For several years, she didn't seem able to do any kind of work. She passed her days sitting on the bank of a brook, or in the woods; she didn't listen to what anyone said to her, and couldn't seem to do anything but grieve for her father and mother and brother; but she got partly over her grief in time, and now she's more calm and resigned; she seems to appreciate what people do for her; she works like any country girl, and shows the greatest respect for Marguerite, who is very old and never leaves her cabin. Sister Anne is sweet and good and tender-hearted now, as she always used to be. She even smiles sometimes, but her smile is always sad. If she sees a little boy of her brother's age, it makes her excited and unhappy, and her eyes fill with tears. If you've seen her, monsieur, you know how pretty she is. She's sixteen now; even if she can't talk, she can make herself understood; her gestures mean so much, and her eyes speak so plain! We all understand her as easy as can be. But, for all that, it's a great pity she can't talk; for all the women say it would do her a lot of good." "Poor child!" said Frédéric; "yes, it is a great pity, indeed! How soft and sweet her voice would be! how I would have liked to hear it! But her misfortune makes her even more interesting in my eyes.--And you say that she lives in the woods?" "Yes, monsieur; but it's easy enough to find old Marguerite's cabin. If you take the path to the left from the one where the willows are, you'll come to a clearing; then go down a low hill, and the cabin is in front of you." "Very good, my boy; thank you." "But here you are at Grenoble; you don't need me any more, do you, monsieur?" "No, my boy; here, take this with the other, for your trouble." "Thank you very much, monsieur; if you ever need anyone in the village to help you, my name's Julien, and I'd be glad to work for you." "Very well; I will remember." The two horsemen dismounted; the young guide took their place, doffed his cap to the travellers, and rode away at a footpace. Frédéric, musing upon all that he had heard, walked in silence beside his two companions, who, as they entered Grenoble, were discussing the proper way to serve a _canard aux olives_--a discussion in which they had been engaged for some time, Dubourg insisting upon the method in vogue in Bretagne, and Ménard immovable in the principles he had learned from the _Cuisinier Royal_. On reaching the inn, they retired to take the rest of which they stood in need after so tiresome a day. But Frédéric could not sleep; the dumb girl's face was constantly in his thoughts; he thought of her misfortune, of the pathetic story he had heard, and he said to himself: "How dearly she loved her brother! What a loving heart! How she will love, when love makes itself known to her! What pleasure to awaken love in her heart! to read in her lovely eyes, which fill the place so well of the organ she has lost!"