“Your mistress of the mill is hard-hearted then, is she? and takes no pity on your despair, poor fellow?” was Thibault’s rejoinder; but his words, though seemingly expressive of great commiseration, had a shade of satisfaction and amusement in them. “Hard-hearted! I should think so indeed!” said Landry. “In the beginning, I was foolish enough to fancy that she did not repulse my love.... All day long I was devouring her with my eyes, and now and then, she too would fix her eyes on me, and after looking at me a while, would smile.... Alas! my dear Thibault, what happiness those looks and smiles were to me!... Ah! why did I not content myself with them?” “Well, there it is,” said Thibault philosophically. “Man is so insatiable.” “Alas! yes; I forgot that I had to do with someone above me in position, and I spoke. Then Madame Polet flew into a great rage; called me an insolent beggar, and threatened to turn me out of doors the very next week.” “Phew!” said Thibault, “and how long ago is that?” “Nearly three weeks.” “And the following week is still to come?” The shoe-maker as he put the question began to feel a revival of the uneasiness which had been momentarily allayed, for he understood women better than his cousin Landry. After a minute’s silence, he continued: “Well, well, you are not so unhappy after all as I thought you.” “Not so unhappy as you thought me?” “No.” “Ah! if you only knew the life I lead! never a look, or a smile! When she meets me she turns away, when I speak to her on matters concerning the mill, she listens with such a disdainful air, that instead of talking of bran and wheat and rye, of barley and oats, of first and second crops, I begin to cry, and then she says to me, _Take care!_ in such a menacing tone, that I run away and hide myself behind the bolters.” “Well, but why do you pay your addresses to this mistress of yours? There are plenty of girls in the country round who would be glad to have you for their wooer.” “Because I love her in spite of myself, I cannot help it, so there!” “Take up with some one else; I’d think no more about her.” “I could not do it.” “At any rate, you might try. It’s just possible that if she saw you transferring your affections to another, the mistress of the Mill might grow jealous, and might then run after you, as you are now running after her. Women are such curious creatures.” “Oh, if I was sure of that, I would begin to try at once ... although now ...” and Landry shook his head. “Well, what about ... now?” “Although now, after all that has happened, it would be of no use.” “What has happened then?” asked Thibault, who was anxious to ascertain all particulars. “Oh! as to that, nothing,” replied Landry, “and I do not even dare speak of it.” “Why?” “Because, as they say with us, ‘Best let sleeping dogs lie.’”