He had never confided his grief to any one; his pride and reserve kept pity at a distance; but he accepted it from this poor old woman, and gave her his hand. “You’ve heard of all my troubles?” “Yes, Master Francis.” “The last of them?” “Yes--through a man from Saint Cassin, who came back from town this morning.” “Ah, I see.” They were silent; then Mother Fauchois began her lamentations again in a loud voice. It is not the way of the primitive to be silent in sorrow. “Master Hubert, so gallant, so nice and young, so good to everybody! He used to come into the kitchen and watch the dishes and laugh with us. And madame--madame was one of the good God’s saints. They are the sort you find in Paradise, Master Francis.” Mr. Roquevillard stood motionless and silent, envying the dead who were at rest. Mother Fauchois went prattling on again: “And Master Maurice, they’ll give him back to you? It’s to-morrow the trial comes off,” she added, quite low, with her peasant’s dread of justice. He saw her cross herself, praying for the Lord’s help for him, and involuntarily he recalled her daughter who had been condemned for theft. He inquired about her gently, for his tried soul was cleansed now of all contempt or pride. “And your daughter, have you good news from her?” “She’s come back to me, Master Francis.” “I’m glad of that.” “Oh, she doesn’t deserve any credit for it. She had to. She came back from Lyons quite sick. She doesn’t want to get well.” “What’s the matter with her?” “She was very sick after her baby was born.” “A baby? Is she married?” “No, Master Francis. But she has a baby. A little darling, very lively; plays all day long. I wouldn’t look at the little angel at first, on account of the disgrace, you understand. But when I saw it it gave one little laugh and made my heart leap. Now it’s all the pleasure I have left.” “Is it a girl?” “A girl? You’d say it was a boy, sure enough, a big boy, very plump.” “It’s quite an expense for you.” “For sure. But when I come home and see this urchin with his bottle it makes me feel as good as a glass of your wine. It makes life feel warm and pleasant again.” “You’re pretty old to work now,” said Mr. Roquevillard. “Exactly. I’m no good for anything else any more.” Even from her wretchedness she could draw comfort, and misfortune brought her a supreme interest for her last days. His mind was distracted from his own trouble by her story, and he marvelled at the courage of the poor woman, who, without knowing it, set him an example of bravery and forgiveness. She stooped down to lift her bundle again to her shoulders. “Good-bye, Master Francis.” “Where are you going?” “To Cognin, to take my wood to the baker’s.” “Wait a moment.” He took out a five-franc piece, wanting to help her in her misfortunes, but she would not accept it. “Take it, I want you to,” he said. “Master Francis,” she answered, “La Vigie doesn’t belong to you any more, if what they say is true.”