“Well, listen. Five years ago at the Rouvray fair, while passing the ox-stalls, I received a terrible blow from the horn of a cow, on the face. I was badly hurt and in a sorry plight, when Monsieur Morris the doctor, passing by told me I must have the wound dressed. I made light of it, but the doctor seized my arm and drew me into a little cottage, the nearest one from the spot where we were standing. It was terribly hot weather. You remember--in ’81.” “Yes, yes, I remember.” “As I said before, he took me by the arm and led me in. A widow and her daughter occupied the cottage. The latter gave me a drink of cold water, and from that moment I was not conscious what the doctor was doing to my face. I was too much in love with the pretty young woman to mind what he did. I watched her come and go, and my heart was hers from that moment. You can guess who it was. Yes, it was Jeanne, God bless her!” Sidonie gave a little gasp. Jean did not realize that he was taking long strides and that the little lame girl was desperately trying to keep up with him. L’Ours continued, not noticing her discomfort: “I said to myself, ‘God never made such a beautiful creature to be mated with a man like me.’ When the doctor had finished I thanked everybody--first Monsieur Morris, then the widow, and finally Jeanne. She smiled at me, but I was so stupid I knew not what I said. But she answered sweetly, and then I went away.” “Jean, I cannot walk so fast,” interrupted Sidonie. “Forgive me, little one. I forget.” He stopped a moment for Sidonie to rest, and then they started on. “I never remembered having seen such eyes as hers before, and such a pretty mouth, dainty figure, and glossy hair. Well, when I went out I forgot all about the fair and returned to the woods.” Thoroughly exhausted, Sidonie said: “L’Ours, leave me here. I can go no farther.” “Why, little one?” “You must go on to St. Benoit to save Bruno, and I can only hinder you. I cannot walk.” “Lean against my arm, child, and you can go better. We are just half way now. Keep up your courage, child, I cannot leave you here.” They again started. “Once alone, I dreamed of her at will. I was mad with love.” “Poor Jean! Yes, it is terrible.” “You know--yes. I shall do for you what he did for me.” “What?” “Was I dreaming or waking, her face haunted me. I lost strength. I could not eat or sleep, and for a year I suffered in silence. Sometimes in the winter, in spite of cold and snow, I would set out for Rouvray. I would watch her window, and when the light was extinguished I would walk back four miles, rewarded by having seen her shadow on the curtain. One night I met Fadard.” “Jean, good Jean, I cannot go any farther. My feet are sinking from under me. Leave me.” “What! Leave you here? Oh, no! Would you die in the snow?” “It would not matter.” “Don’t be foolish. I dreamed of dying once, too, but Jeanne saved me.”