“And I shall tell it to you as well as I told you those you thought of before.” “Yes, do tell me if you know, Marie. Tell me yourself. I shall be glad to hear.” “An hour ago,” she answered, “your idea was to eat--and now it is to sleep.” “Marie, I am only an ox-driver, but, upon my word, you take me for an ox. You are very perverse, and it is easy to see that you do not care to talk to me, so go to sleep. That will be better than to pick flaws in a man who is out of sorts.” “If you wish to talk, let’s talk,” said the girl, half reclining near the child and resting her head against the saddle. “You torment yourself, Germain, and you do not show much courage for a man. What wouldn’t I say if I didn’t do my best to fight my own troubles?” “Yes, that’s very true, and that’s just what I am thinking of, my poor child. You are going to live, away from your friends, in a horrid country full of moors and fens, where you will catch the autumn fevers. Sheep do not pay well there, and this is always discouraging for a shepherdess if she means well. Then you will be surrounded by strangers who may not be kind to you and will not know how much you are worth. It makes me more sorry than I can tell you, and I have a great desire to take you home to your mother instead of going on to Fourche.” “You talk very kindly, but there is no reason for your misgivings, my poor Germain. You ought not to lose heart on your friend’s account, and instead of showing me the dark side of my lot, you should show me the bright side, as you did after lunch at Rebec’s.” “What can I do? That’s the way it appeared to me then, and now my ideas are changed. It is best for you to take a husband.” “That cannot be, Germain, and as it is out of the question, I think no more about it.” “Yet such a thing might happen. Perhaps if you told me what kind of a man you want, I might imagine somebody.” “Imagining is not finding. For myself, I never imagine, for it does no good.” “You are not looking for a rich man?” “Certainly not, for I am as poor as Job.” “But if he were comfortably off, you wouldn’t be sorry to have a good house, and good food, and good clothes, and to live with an honest family who would allow you to help your mother.” “Oh, yes indeed! It is my own wish to help my mother.” “And if this man were to turn up, you would not be too hard to please, even if he were not so very young.” “Ah! There you must excuse me, Germain. That is just the point I insist on. I could never love an old man.” “An old man, of course not; but a man of my age, for example!” “Your age is too old for me, Germain. I should like Bastien’s age, though Bastien is not so good-looking as you.” “Should you rather have Bastien, the swineherd?” said Germain, indignantly. “A fellow with eyes shaped like those of the pigs he drives!” “I could excuse his eyes, because he is eighteen.” Germain felt terribly jealous.