"And then you are afraid that some one will speak of your sorrow, eh? I can understand that, and after what you have just said, I'll wager that you have never got over your wife's death! Well, it's the same way with me, and you needn't be ashamed of it before me, Monsieur de Boisguilbault; for old as I am, I tell you something seems to cut my heart in two when I think that I am alone in the world! And yet I am naturally of a cheerful disposition and I wasn't always happy in my home; but what difference does it make? my feelings are stronger than I am, for I loved that woman! The devil couldn't have prevented me from loving her." "My friend," said Monsieur de Boisguilbault, visibly touched, and making a painful effort to restrain his emotion, "she loved you, so do not complain too bitterly; and, then, you were a father. What became of your son? Where is he?" "He is underground with my wife, Monsieur de Boisguilbault." "I didn't know it. I knew only that you were a widower. Poor Jean! forgive me for reminding you of your sorrows! Oh! I pity you from the bottom of my heart! To have a child and lose it!" The marquis placed his hand on the carpenter's shoulder as he leaned over his work, and all his kindness of heart appeared on his face. Jean dropped his tools and said impulsively, with one knee on the floor: "Do you know, Monsieur de Boisguilbault, I have been unhappier than you. You can't imagine half of what I have suffered!" "Tell me about it, if it's a relief to you. I shall understand it." "Well, I will tell you, for you are a man of learning and judge things in this world better than anyone I know, when your mind is calm. I will tell you something that many people in my village know, but that I have never been willing to talk about with anybody. My life has been a strange one, I tell you! I was loved and I wasn't; I had a son and I wasn't sure that I was his father." "What do you say? No! don't say that; you must never tell about such things!" said the marquis, in sore distress.