Denise allowed her aunt to have her way; she no longer had any heart for anything, her melancholy seemed to increase every day, and the child's endearments were powerless to divert her. She sought relief from her sorrows in toil; but in the midst of her rustic duties, which were formerly her delight, Denise would pause, heave a sigh, and stand sometimes for many minutes, lost in thought. When Mère Fourcy surprised her in one of these fits of melancholy, she would run to her and ask: "What on earth is the matter with you, girl?" "Nothing, aunt," Denise would reply, trying hard to smile. "But you was standing there without moving, and you didn't say a word." "Because I was thinking, aunt." "What about, my child?" "I don't remember." "You're sick, that's what's the matter with you!" "I'm sure I don't know, aunt." "Pardi! I can see it plain enough. You're growing thin, and you're pale as a ghost, and you don't eat anything. You must get married, my dear." "Oh, no! I don't want to, aunt!" "Then you must take medicine, for, I tell you, you need to take something." Mère Fourcy could think of nothing save a husband or medicine capable of restoring Denise's bloom; but the girl declared that it would return with the warm weather, because she hoped that the return of the spring would bring Auguste back to the village. The winter days were very long, especially to the village girl, who no longer took any pleasure in the evening reunions, who listened without interest to the jokes of the young men, and who had no one for whom she cared to beautify herself. Although one may find enjoyment in musing beneath an oak tree's shade, although the sight of green grass and verdant shrubbery may allay the pangs of love, the interior of a farm-house, and the quacking of geese and ducks must be intolerable to a heart that craves silence and solitude. Denise, obliged to conceal her unhappiness from her aunt, remained in her room and watched the Paris road. One day when a sharp frost had hardened the ground, although the sun still made the gnarled and leafless trees attractive to the eye, Denise, who was at her chamber window, heard talking and laughing on the path leading to their house. The voices were evidently not those of villagers, and, in fact, two ladies dressed like Parisians appeared on the tree-lined path, looking about them, evidently with no very clear idea where they were going, and stopping every minute to laugh, and to rest by the hedge. Denise recognized one of them as the young woman whom she had met at Auguste's rooms in Paris, and who had walked with her to the stage office, manifesting the deepest interest in her. The sight of a person who knew Dalville, who had come perhaps with a message from him, caused the girl keen pleasure, and she at once left her room, to go out and accost the strangers.