But when they reached the gate they found that it was locked, that Monsieur de Boisguilbault had kept the key, and that they must either wait for him or go back and ask him for it. Jean was cursing loudly when the marquis suddenly appeared, carrying a package which he placed on Gilberte's knees, saying: "I kept you waiting a little; I had some difficulty in finding what I wanted. I beg you to keep it for your own use, as well as these little things which you left with your basket. Don't get down, Jappeloup, I will open the gate for you. I shall expect you to-morrow, my dear fellow," he added, when the gate was open. And he offered the carpenter his hand, which the latter hesitated to take, understanding nothing of the inconsequent impulses of so uncertain and perturbed a mind. "Mademoiselle de Châteaubrun," the marquis then said in an almost inaudible tone of voice, "will you also shake hands with me before we part?" Gilberte leaped lightly to the ground, removed her glove and took the old man's hand, which trembled terribly. With an impulsive outburst of respectful compassion she put it to her lips, saying: "You will not forgive Antoine; do, at least, forgive Gilberte?" A profound groan issued from the old man's breast. He made a movement as if to put his lips to Gilberte's brow, but recoiled in dismay. Then he took her head in both hands, squeezed it a moment as if he would crush it, and, finally, kissed her hair, which he moistened with a tear as cold as the drop of water that drips from the glacier. Then he suddenly pushed her away with all his strength and fled, hiding his face in his handkerchief. Gilberte fancied that she heard a sob die away in the distance with the sound of his uncertain footsteps on the gravel and the whispering of the breeze among the aspens. XXXII A WEDDING PRESENT There was something at once ghastly and heartrending in Monsieur de Boisguilbault's strange leave-taking, and Gilberte was so affected by it that she began to weep again herself. "Well, what's the matter?" said Jean when they were on the road to Châteaubrun; "are you going to lose your eyes this evening. You are about as mad as yonder old man, my Gilberte; for sometimes you are reasonable and talk pure gold, and then suddenly you are as weak and whining as a baby. Let me tell you this: Monsieur de Boisguilbault has a kind heart; but, for all Emile and your father may say, he is a little crack-brained; that's sure. There's no relying on him, but just the same, we need never despair of him. It may be that you will never hear of him again, and it may just as well be that he'll jump on your father's neck some fine day, if he happens to meet him at the right moment. It will depend on the moon!"