"No, Brulette, never." "That's curious, José." "Why so? Have not I been accustomed from my youth up to be pitied for my stupidity and helped in my weakness? Did the friendship you have shown me, Brulette, ever make me vain enough to believe that you--" Here Joseph became as red as fire, and did not say another word. "You are right," said Brulette, who was prudent and judicious just as Thérence was quick and sensitive. "We can easily make mistakes about the feelings which we give and receive. I had a silly idea about the girl, but if you don't share it there can be nothing in it. Thérence is, no doubt, just as I am, ignorant of what they call true love, and waits the time when the good God will put it into her head to live for the man he has chosen for her." "All the same," said Joseph, "I wish to leave this part of the country and I ought to." "We came to take you back," I said, "as soon as you feel strong enough to go." Contrary to my expectation, he rejected the idea vehemently. "No, no," he said, "I have but one power, and that is my force of will to be a great musician; I want to have my mother with me, and live honored and courted in my own country. If I quit these parts now I shall go to the Upper Bourbonnais till I am admitted into the fraternity of bagpipers." We dared not tell him that we feared he would never have sound lungs. Brulette talked to him of other things, while I, much occupied with the revelation she had made about Thérence, and indeed anxious about the girl, who had just left her lodge and plunged into the woods, started in the same direction, with no apparent object, but feeling curious and very desirous of meeting her. It was not very long before I heard the sound of choking sighs, which let me know where she was hiding. No longer feeling shy of her when I knew she was in trouble, I went forward and spoke to her resolutely. "Thérence," I said, observing that she did not weep, and only quivered and choked with repressed anger, "I think my cousin and I are the cause of your annoyance. Our coming displeases you; or rather, Brulette does, for I myself can claim no attention. We were speaking of you this morning, she and I, and I prevented her from leaving your lodge, where she thought she was a burden to you. Now please say frankly if we are, and we will go elsewhere; for though you may have a low opinion of us, we are none the less right-minded towards you and fearful of causing you annoyance." The proud girl seemed offended by my frankness; she got up from her seat, for I had placed myself near her. "Your cousin wants to go, does she?" she said, with a threatening air; "she wants to shame me? No, she shall not do it! or else--" "Or else what?" I asked, determined to make her confess her feelings. "Or else I will leave the woods, and my father and family, and go and die in the desert." She spoke feverishly, with so gloomy an eye and so pale a face, that I was frightened.