I was so troubled and vexed that I was going away without a word, when Brulette called to me, and beginning to knit (for she too had laid aside her work while talking to him), she told me to sit down beside her. It struck me it was only a sop to soothe my vexation, so I refused, saying that the weather was not pleasant enough to sit about in ditches. And truly, though not cold, it was very damp; the thaw had made the brook full and the grass muddy. There was still a little snow in the furrows, and the wind was disagreeable. According to my notions, Brulette must have thought Joseph very interesting to make her lead her flock out there in such weather--she who so often and so readily turned them over to the care of her neighbor. "José," said Brulette, "our friend Tiennet is sulky because he sees we have a secret between us. Won't you let me tell it to him? His advice will do no harm, and he will tell you just what he thinks of your idea." "He!" said Joseph, beginning to shrug his shoulders just as had done the night before. "Does your back itch whenever you see me?" I said to him, spitefully. "I can scratch you in a way that will cure you once for all." He looked at me from under his lids as if ready to bite me; but Brulette touched him gently on the shoulder with the end of her distaff, and calling him to her, she whispered in his ear. "No, no!" he answered, without taking the trouble to hide his answer. "Tiennet is no good at all to advise me,--he knows no more than your goat; and if you tell him the least thing, I won't tell you anything more." Thereupon he picked up his shears and his chopper, and went to work at some distance. "There!" said Brulette, rising to call in her flock, "now he is cross. But never mind, Tiennet, it is nothing serious,--I know his fancies; there is nothing to be done, and indeed the best way is to let him alone. He's a lad who has had a bee in his bonnet ever since he came into the world. He doesn't know how to express what he feels, and he really can't. It is better, therefore, to leave him to himself; for if one worries him with questions, he only cries, and then we have hurt his feelings for nothing." "It is my opinion, though," I said to Brulette, "that you know how to make him confess himself." "I was mistaken," she answered; "I thought he had some much worse trouble. It would make you laugh if I could tell you what the trouble really is; but as he chooses to tell no one but me, let us think no more about it." "If it is such a little thing," I persisted, "you would not take so much interest in it." "Do you think I take too much?" she said. "Don't I owe it to the woman who brought him into the world and who brought me up with more care and kindness than she gave to her own child?" "That's a good reason, Brulette. If it is Mariton you love in her son, very good; in that case, I wish Mariton was my mother,--it would be better for me than being your cousin."