The farmer was by no means anxious to take a hand in the game: he spurred his horse in order to free himself, and tried to strike the ploughman's hands with his stick and make him relax his hold; but Germain eluded the blow, and, taking him by the leg, unhorsed him and brought him to the heather, where he knocked him down, although the farmer was soon upon his feet again and defended himself sturdily. [Illustration: Chapter XIV _Marie had recoiled in terror; but Germain darted to the farmer's horse's head, seized the rein, and shook it vigorously._] "Coward!" said Germain, when he had him beneath him, "I could break every bone in your body if I chose! But I don't like to harm anybody, and besides, no punishment would mend your conscience. However, you shan't stir from this spot until you have asked this girl's pardon on your knees." The farmer, who was familiar with affairs of that sort, tried to turn it off as a joke. He claimed that his offence was not so very serious, as it consisted only in words, and said that he was willing to beg the girl's pardon, on condition that he might kiss her and that they should all go and drink a pint of wine at the nearest inn and part good friends. "You disgust me!" replied Germain, pressing his face against the ground, "and I long to see the last of your ugly face. There, blush if you can, and you had better take the road of the _affronteux_[2] when you come to our town." He picked up the farmer's holly staff, broke it across his knee to show the strength of his wrists, and threw the pieces away with a contemptuous gesture. Then, taking his son's hand in one of his, and little Marie's in the other, he walked away, trembling with indignation. XV THE RETURN TO THE FARM Within a quarter of an hour they had crossed the moors. They trotted along the high-road, and Grise neighed at every familiar object. Petit-Pierre told his father what had taken place so far as he had been able to understand it. "When we got there," he said, "_that man_ came and talked to _my Marie_ in the sheepfold, where we went first to see the fine sheep. I'd got up into the crib to play, and _that man_ didn't see me. Then he said good-day to my Marie and then he kissed her." "You let him kiss you, Marie?" said Germain, trembling with anger. "I thought it was a compliment, a custom of the place for new arrivals, just as grandma, at your house, kisses the girls who take service with her, to show that she adopts them and will be like a mother to them." "And then," continued Petit-Pierre, who was very proud to have a story to tell, "_that man_ said something naughty, something you told me not to say and not to remember: so I forgot it right away. But if my papa wants me to tell him what it was--" "No, my Pierre, I don't want to hear it, and I don't want you to remember it ever."