Alice kissed Paule as she said good-bye, and Marcel was lost in admiration of the languid beauty which accompanied her every movement and gave her an unsubstantial, airy grace. In his love was mingled a desire to protect her. He would have given all his strength to this lovely child, whose frailty inspired him with an almost religious emotion. Alone with her brother on the road, Paule was kissing the children, who had stopped their game under the gaze of those whose hostility they had divined. “Poor little creatures!” she said with an indignant flash of the eye. “They don’t love you in these days!” The peasant woman was flattered and smiled at the girl. “There is a crowd of them and they grow like weeds!” “God is good and the earth is big,” said Marcel, who remembered his father’s joy when he saw beautiful children. “Yes, Monsieur Guibert. My mother had twelve. I have three brothers in Paris and four in America. They are far away, but they are still living.” Never having left her native place, she easily confused distances. Paule pointed to the group of chubby mites, who had begun to laugh again. “They will be able to keep you later on!” “In the meantime they eat whole potfuls of soup. My husband toils for them all day long, and we live from hand to mouth.” “Have you no land?” “Not enough to keep a rabbit on!” Putting a coin into the smallest child’s hand, money she had saved to buy a pair of gloves, she said: “Good-bye, be brave.” When they had reached Montcharvin woods Paule stopped and smiled at her brother. “Don’t you want to hear my news? Did you speak to her?” “No, I understood. She accepts, doesn’t she?” “Yes, she refused Monsieur de Marthenay this morning. It is a secret. She loves you. She is charming, and you will have strength enough for both.” He did not answer. And brother and sister exchanged no more confidences for they felt the same shyness about their hidden feelings. As they arrived at the gate Marcel spoke to Paule again. “We must let mother know,” he said. “You tell her, dear, since you are playing Providence to me to-day.” “Very well,” answered Paule. “I will tell her presently.” Later in the evening, Madame Guibert, having heard her daughter’s news, was silent for a long time. “Is this happiness for us?” she murmured at last. “She is very nice,” said Paule. And the old lady added, “May she make him happy! I would rather have had her not so rich and with more strength of character. But since he loves her, we must love her too. Let us pray for them.” She never thought for a moment that her son might be refused. CHAPTER VI MONSIEUR AND MADAME DULAURENS