“They are lovely as little angels, and so well brought up that you can’t find better children.” “There’s Sylvain. He is none too obedient.” “He is so very little. He can’t help being naughty. But he is very bright.” “He is bright it is true, and very brave. He is not afraid of cows nor bulls, and if he were given his own way, he would be climbing on horseback already with his elder brother.” “Had I been in your place, I would have taken the eldest boy along. Surely people would have liked you at once for having such a pretty child.” “Yes, if a woman is fond of children. But if she is not.” “Are there women who don’t love children?” “Not many, I think, but still there are some, and that is what troubles me.” “You don’t know this woman at all, then?” “No more than you, and I fear that I shall not know her better after I have seen her. I am not suspicious. When people say nice things to me, I believe them, but more than once I have had good reason to repent, for words are not deeds.” “They say that she is a very good woman.” “Who says so? Father Maurice?” “Yes, your father-in-law.” “That is all very well. But he knows her no more than I.” “Well, you will soon see. Pay close attention, and let us hope that you will not be deceived.” “I have it. Little Marie, I should be very much obliged if you would come into the house for a minute before you go straight on to Ormeaux. You are quick-witted; you have always shown that you are not stupid, and nothing escapes your notice. Should you see anything to rouse your suspicions, you must warn me of it very quietly.” “Oh! no, Germain, I will not do that; I should be too much afraid of making a mistake; and, besides, if a word lightly spoken were to turn you against this marriage, your family would bear me a grudge, and I have plenty of troubles now without bringing any more on my poor dear mother.” As they were talking thus, the gray pricked up her ears and shied; then returning on her steps, she approached the bushes, where she began to recognize something which had frightened her at first. Germain cast his eye over the thicket, and in a ditch, beneath the branches of a scrub-oak, still thick and green, he saw something which he took for a lamb. “The little creature is strayed or dead, for it does not move. Perhaps some one is looking for it; we must see.” “It is not an animal,” cried little Marie; “it is a sleeping child. It is your Petit-Pierre.” “Heavens!” exclaimed Germain; “see the little scamp asleep so far away from home, and in a ditch where a snake might bite him!” He lifted up the child, who smiled as he opened his eyes and threw his arms about his father’s neck, saying: “Dear little father, you are going to take me with you.” “Oh, yes; always the same tune. What were you doing there, you naughty Pierre?” “I was waiting for my little father to go by. I was watching the road, and I watched so hard that I fell asleep.”