Laurent, the good-looking young farmer, who stood leaning against the tree round which their chairs were gathered, answered him gravely. “Wait, _beau-père_, till you see her on Sunday coming from Mass on M. Bourdet’s arm; the cap that hides the grey knot of hair at the back of the head is neat and bright--oh! so bright--pink or blue for choice, and if M. Bourdet chances to compliment the colour of the stockings--he is gay, you know, always--the yellow face turns rosy and all the wrinkles go.” And laughing maliciously at Bourdet, the young fellow turned away homewards. Bourdet looked grave. “’Tis your son-in-law that speaks like that, Minaud,” he said, “otherwise I would say that in my day the young fellows found it better to amuse themselves with the young girls than to mock at the old ones.” “You are right, my friend,” said Minaud. “’Tis the regiment that taught Laurent this, and many other things. But it is a good boy, though with a sharp tongue. To these young ones it seems all foolishness to be an old girl.” And the others nodded agreement. So they sat, chatting, and drawing at their long pipes, while the afternoon sun gleamed on the little gardens and on the closed green shutters of the houses; and the slow, large oxen lumbered through the village street, their yoked heads pressed well down, and their tails flicking unceasingly at the swarm of flies. Jeanne-Marie stood in her garden, blinking thoughtfully at the flowers, while she shaded her eyes with her hand. On her bare head the sparse brown hair was parted severely and neatly to each side, and the deep southern eyes looked steadily out of the tanned and wrinkled face. Her light cotton bodice fell away from the thin lines of her neck and shoulders, and her sabots clicked harshly as she moved about the garden. “At least the good God has given me a fine crab-apple bloom this year,” Jeanne-Marie said, as she looked at the masses of rich blossom. On the wall the monthly roses were flowering thickly, and the Guelder roses bent their heads under the weight of their heavy bunches. “In six days I shall have the peonies, and the white rose-bush in the corner is coming soon,” said Jeanne-Marie contentedly. II It was four and a half years ago that Jeanne-Marie had come to the white cottage next to the mill, with the communal school opposite. Till that autumn day, when a pair of stout oxen had brought her goods to the door, she had lived with her brother, who was _métayer_ to M. François, the owner of the big villa a quarter of a mile beyond the village. Her father had been _métayer_; and when he died, his son Firman--a fine-looking young man, not long home from his service--had taken his place. So the change at the _métairie_ had very little affected Jeanne-Marie.