“I hope not, for I am not fond of fools. Come, eat up your partridges; they are done to a turn; and for want of bread, you must be satisfied with chestnuts.” “Where the deuce did you find chestnuts, too?” “It is extraordinary! All along the road I picked them off the branches as we went along, and filled my pockets.” “And are they cooked, too?” “Where would my wits have been had I not had sense enough to put the chestnuts in the fire as soon as it was lighted? That is the way we always do in the fields.” “So we are going to take supper together, little Marie. I want to drink your health and wish you a good husband, just the sort of a man that will suit you. Tell me what kind you want.” “I should find that very difficult, Germain, for I have not thought about it yet.” “What, not at all? Never?” said Germain, as he began to eat with a laborer’s appetite, yet stopping to cut off the more tender morsels for his companion, who persisted in refusing them and contented herself with a few chestnuts. “Tell me, little Marie,” he went on, seeing that she had no intention of answering him, “have you never thought of marrying? Yet you are old enough?” “Perhaps,” she said, “but I am too poor. I need at least a hundred crowns to marry, and I must work five or six years to scrape them together.” “Poor girl, I wish Father Maurice were willing to give me a hundred crowns to make you a present of.” “Thank you kindly, Germain. What do you suppose people would say of me?” “What do you wish them to say of you? They know very well that I am too old to marry you. They would never believe that I--that you--” “Look, Germain, your child is waking up,” said little Marie. [Illustration: (Ornament)] VIII The Evening Prayer Petit-Pierre had raised his head and was looking about him with a thoughtful air. “Oh, that is the way he always does, whenever he hears the sound of eating,” said Germain. “The explosion of a cannon would not rouse him, but if you work your jaws near him, he opens his eyes at once.” “You must have been just like him at his age,” said little Marie, with a sly smile. “See! my Petit-Pierre, you are looking for your canopy. To-night it is made all of green, my child; but your father eats his supper none the less. Do you wish to sup with him? I have not eaten your share; I thought that you might claim it.” “Marie, I wish you to eat,” cried the husbandman; “I shall not touch another morsel. I am a greedy glutton. You are depriving yourself for our sake. It is not fair. I am ashamed. It takes away all my appetite. I will not have my son eat his supper unless you take some too.” “Leave us alone,” said little Marie; “you have not the key to our appetites. Mine is tight shut to-day, but your Pierre’s is as wide open as a little wolf’s. Just see how he seizes his food. He will be a strong workman too, some day!”