This cold-blooded scheme of marriage that Father Maurice had opened to him, this unknown woman he was to take for his bride, perhaps even all that had been said to him of her virtue and good sense, made him pause to think. And he went away musing as men do whose thoughts are too few to divide into hostile factions, not scraping up fine arguments for rebellion and selfishness but suffering from a dull grief, submissive to ills from which there is no escape. Meanwhile, Father Maurice had returned to the farm, while Germain, between sunset and dark, spent the closing hour of the day in repairing gaps the sheep had made in the hedge of a yard near the farm-buildings. He lifted up the branches of the thorn-bushes and held them in place with clods of earth, whilst the thrushes chattered in the neighboring thicket and seemed to call to him to hurry, for they were eager to come and see his work as soon as he had gone. [Illustration: (Ornament)] IV Mother Guillette Father Maurice found at his house an old neighbor who had come to talk with his wife, seeking at the same time to secure a few embers to light her fire. Mother Guillette lived in a wretched hut two gunshots away from the farm. Still she was a willing and an orderly woman. Her poor dwelling was clean and neat, and the care with which her clothes were mended showed that she respected herself in the midst of her penury. “You have come to fetch your evening fire, Mother Guillette,” said the old man to her. “Is there anything else you want?” “No, Father Maurice,” answered she; “nothing for the present. I am no beggar, as you know, and I take care not to abuse the kindness of my friends.” “That is very true. Besides, your friends are always ready to do you a service.” “I was just talking to your wife, and I was asking her if Germain had finally decided to marry again.” “You are no gossip,” replied Father Maurice; “we can talk in your presence without having any foolish tale-bearing to fear. So I will tell my wife and you that Germain has made up his mind absolutely. To-morrow morning he starts for the farm at Fourche.” “Good enough!” cried Mother Maurice; “poor child! God grant he may find a woman as good and true as he.” “So he is going to Fourche?” remarked Mother Guillette; “how lucky that is! It is exactly what I want. And since you were just asking me if there were anything I wished for, I am going to tell you, Father Maurice, how you can do me a service.” “Tell me what it is; we like to help you.” “I wish Germain would be so kind as to take my daughter along with him.” “Where? To Fourche?” “No, not to Fourche, but to Ormeaux. She is to stay there the rest of the year.” “What!” exclaimed Mother Maurice, “are you going to separate from your daughter?”