Germain promised, and the week passed without a single word in private from Father Maurice, who seemed to suspect nothing. The husbandman did his best to look calm, but he grew ever paler and more troubled. [Illustration: (Ornament)] XVI Little Marie At length, on Sunday morning, when mass was over, his mother-in-law asked Germain what encouragement he had had from his sweetheart since the conversation in the orchard. “Why, none at all,” answered he; “I haven’t spoken to her.” “How can you expect to win her if you don’t speak to her?” “I have spoken to her but once,” replied Germain. “That was when we were together at Fourche, and since then I haven’t said a single word. Her refusal gave me so much pain that I had rather not hear her begin again to tell me that she doesn’t love me.” “But, my son, you must speak to her now; your father gives his approval. So make up your mind. I tell you to do it, and, if need be, I shall order you to do it, for you can’t rest in this uncertainty.” Germain obeyed. He reached Mother Guillette’s house, hanging his head with a hopeless air. Little Marie sat alone before the hearth so thoughtful that she did not hear Germain’s step. When she saw him before her, she started from her chair in surprise and grew very red. “Little Marie,” said he, sitting down near her, “I come to trouble you and to give you pain. I know it very well, but the man and his wife at home [it was thus after the peasant fashion that he designated the heads of the house] wish me to speak to you, and beg you to marry me. You don’t care for me. I am prepared for it.” “Germain,” answered little Marie, “are you sure that you love me?” “It pains you, I know, but it isn’t my fault. If you could change your mind, I should be so very happy, and certain it is that I don’t deserve it. Look at me, Marie; am I very terrible?” “No, Germain,” she answered, with a smile, “you are better looking than I.” “Don’t make fun of me; look at me charitably; as yet, I have never lost a single hair nor a single tooth. My eyes tell you plainly how much I love you. Look straight into my eyes. It is written there, and every girl knows how to read that writing.” Marie looked into Germain’s eyes with playful boldness; then of a sudden she turned away her head and trembled. “Good God,” exclaimed Germain, “I make you afraid; you look at me as though I were the farmer of Ormeaux. Don’t be afraid of me, please don’t; that hurts me too much. I shall not say any bad words to you, I shall not kiss you if you will not have me, and when you wish me to go away, you have only to show me the door. Must I go in order to stop your trembling?” Marie held out her hand toward the husbandman, but without turning her head, which was bent on the fireplace, and without saying a word. “I understand,” said Germain. “You pity me, for you are kind; you are sorry to make me unhappy; but you can’t love me.”