“Well, after all,” he said, “supposing a poor devil does once in a way help himself to a good dinner from the super-abundance of some great lord! Are you of the same mind, Mademoiselle Agnelette, as the judges who say that a man ought to be hanged just for a wretched rabbit? Come now, do you think God created that buck for the Baron more than for me?” “God, Monsieur Thibault, has told us not to covet other men’s goods; obey the law of God, and you will not find yourself any the worse off for it!” “Ah, I see, my pretty Agnelette, you know me then, since you call me so glibly by my name?” “Certainly I do; I remember seeing you at Boursonnes, on the day of the fête; they called you the beautiful dancer, and stood round in a circle to watch you.” Thibault, pleased with this compliment, was now quite disarmed. “Yes, yes, of course,” he answered, “I remember now having seen you; and I think we danced together, did we not? but you were not so tall then as you are now, that’s why I did not recognise you at first, but I recall you distinctly now. And I remember too that you wore a pink frock, with a pretty little white bodice, and that we danced in the dairy. I wanted to kiss you, but you would not let me, for you said that it was only proper to kiss one’s vis-á-vis, and not one’s partner.” “You have a good memory, Monsieur Thibault!” “And do you know, Agnelette, that during these last twelve months, for it is a year since that dance, you have not only grown taller, but grown prettier too; I see you are one of those people who understand how to do two things at once.” The girl blushed and lowered her eyes, and the blush and the shy embarrassment only made her look more charming still. Thibault’s eyes were now turned towards her with more marked attention than before, and, in a voice, not wholly free from a slight agitation, he asked: “Have you a lover, Agnelette?” “No, Monsieur Thibault,” she answered, “I have never had one, and do not wish to have one.” “And why is that? Is Cupid such a bad lad that you are afraid of him?” “No, not that, but a lover is not at all what I want.” “And what do you want?” “A husband.” Thibault made a movement, which Agnelette either did not, or pretended not to see. “Yes,” she repeated, “a husband. Grandmother is old and infirm, and a lover would distract my attention too much from the care which I now give her; whereas, a husband, if I found a nice fellow who would like to marry me,--a husband would help me to look after her in her old age, and would share with me the task which God has laid upon me, of making her happy and comfortable in her last years.” “But do you think your husband,” said Thibault, “would be willing that you should love your grandmother more than you loved him? and do you not think he might be jealous at seeing you lavish so much tenderness upon her?”