"Why Gros-Jean and Lucas and Bastien."

"They're the sharpest fellows in the village! What are you thinking about, to say that? Gros-Jean, who's so funny when he dances and always mixes up the figures on purpose! Lucas, who's taken the prize at _goose_ three years running! And Bastien, who's been to Paris twice and learned to play at quarter-staff! And you call those boys stupid!"

"Bless me! aunt, it seemed to me that they didn't say anything to me but things that didn't amuse me."

"But you used to laugh so loud with 'em! I tell you you're sick, my child; when we go home, I'm going to make you eat a good dish of peas and pork before you go to bed; that'll do you good."

Denise did not feel sick; she did not herself know why she was not enjoying herself. At last the hour for retiring arrived, and the girl was secretly well pleased to return to the cottage and leave her companions, who glanced sneeringly at her and said to one another:

"Something's the matter with Denise, that's sure! At all events, if she's always the way she is to-day, the fellows will soon give up liking her and making love to her."

In spite of, or perhaps because of, the dish of peas and pork, Denise slept little. She thought, not precisely of the fine gentleman who had flattered her and kissed her and picked her up after her fall, but of the one who proposed to take care of poor Coco; of the money of which she was the depositary, and of the means of making the child happier.

At daybreak she left her bed. After completing her morning ch.o.r.es, she made her escape and hurried to the Calleux cabin. She saw the child playing in front of the door and was delighted to speak to him without witnesses.

"Where's Madeleine?" she asked.

"She's asleep, my little Denise," the child replied, throwing his arms about the girl's neck.

"And your father?"

"Papa Calleux, he didn't come home last night. Grandma says he slept at the wine-shop."

"Coco, do you love that gentleman who came here and left money for you, and kept you from being beaten for breaking the bowl?"

"Oh, yes! I do love him, just. He's got a pretty vest and a pretty ribbon hanging on it. He's coming to play with me again, ain't he?"

"Yes, he said he'd come again. Do you know his name?"

"He's my dear friend."

"But his name--did he tell you that?"

"No, but he knows my name's Coco, and Papa Calleux----"

"You must love that gentleman dearly, for he means to do ever so much for you. Would you like to learn to read and write?"

"Oh, yes! so's to read pretty stories in the books with pictures in 'em, like you've got. But papa won't let me go to school."

"I'll speak to him and try to make him consent----"

At that moment old Madeleine's shrill voice was heard, calling the child. He kissed Denise and went into the cabin, while the girl walked rapidly back to the village.

Pere Calleux, after pa.s.sing three days at the wine-shop, resumed his spade and watering-pot; but he would not consent to let Coco go to school, although Denise told him that it would cost him nothing; and old Madeleine would not allow the child to go any farther than the field where his father worked. Denise went to the hovel every morning; she always carried something secretly to the child, but she did not touch Dalville's money.

"He won't come back," said Denise to herself; "here's a week gone already! Psha! he's forgotten all about--Coco; still another reason for saving that money. Some day the little fellow will be very glad to have it. And yet that gentleman seemed to want to come again. Of course he's been to Madame Destival's, and he didn't go through our village! What liars they are, those young men from Paris! Still that one has some good qualities. But why did that Monsieur Bertrand tell me to look out for myself?"

The dancing days came around in due course, but Denise's good spirits did not return, although she did her utmost to appear as of old, and often danced when she felt no desire to do so, and tried to joke with the young men. Her greatest pleasure now was to sit alone under a great oak in her garden, or to go to the cabin and embrace Coco, to whom she talked constantly of the handsome gentleman, who meant to do so much for him.

A month had pa.s.sed since Auguste's meeting with Denise, when one morning, as she was about to start for the cabin, a peasant informed her that old Madeleine had died during the night. The little milkmaid ran to the child at full speed. The old woman's remains had not been removed; and as Calleux was poor and was not liked in the neighborhood, the child was watching alone by the body, while his father made the necessary arrangements for the burial.

Denise halted in front of the solitary hovel, the aspect of which seemed to her more wretched than ever, because Death casts a dark pall over everything wherever he pa.s.ses. The girl was surprised to find n.o.body about; she drew nearer and bursts of laughter fell upon her ears. She concluded that the person was mistaken who had told her of the grandmother's death, and she put her head in at the door. She saw the death bed, beside which a lamp cast a dim light; and close by she saw the child playing with his goat on the straw, and greeting with shouts of laughter Jacqueleine's antics and caresses.

That picture caused Denise a peculiar sensation. She entered the cabin and walked toward the child, saying:

"What's this, my dear? playing beside your dead grandmother?"

"Will that make her mad?" queried the child, with an artless glance at Denise.

"No, for she can't hear you; but you ought to be sorry for her death."

"Someone told me she wouldn't whip me again."

"Didn't you cry when she died?"

"No, Denise."

"Then you didn't love her?"

"Oh! I was awful 'fraid of her!"

"My dear, it isn't nice not to have any feeling."

"Oh! if my goat died, Denise, I'd cry hard enough; Jacqueleine's so good and she loves me so!"

Denise could think of no answer to make to the child; she sent him outside with his goat. On Pere Calleux's return, she obtained his permission to take Coco with her for a few days, and Coco took with him his darling goat, from which he refused to part.

Denise was anxious to keep the child with her; Mere Fourcy was kindhearted, and Denise showed her that as he grew up Coco would be of use to them, and that the money left by the gentleman from Paris would be more than sufficient to educate him. Pere Calleux, who realized that his son could not make his soup, consented to leave him with Denise for the present, and the girl was overjoyed.

Behold, then, Coco a member of the little milkmaid's family, and leading a pleasant life. Denise, who knew how to read,--not a rare accomplishment in our villages nowadays,--determined to educate her little protege, and did not fail to speak to him every day of the handsome gentleman who had paid so generously for his bowl.

But another month pa.s.sed, and the gentleman from Paris did not come again. Denise, who still loved to muse beneath the great oak, often said to herself:

"It was quite right to think that he didn't mean a word of all those fine things he said to me. But, when he wasn't coming back, it wasn't worth while for that Monsieur Bertrand to say: 'Look out for yourself!'"

VIII

A BACHELOR'S MORNING RECEPTION

"Is Auguste in, Monsieur Bertrand?" inquired a young woman of twenty-four, slender and graceful, with fine brown eyes, very black hair, pale complexion, white, even teeth, and a somewhat fatigued expression; a face, be it said, which was enlivened and made most attractive by a mischievous smile. This young woman was a certain Virginie, of whom mention was made in the cabriolet on the way to Monsieur Destival's; she had just rung the bell at the door of Auguste's apartment, although it was only eight o'clock in the morning.

"Monsieur Dalville has gone out," replied Bertrand, with a very slight nod to Mademoiselle Virginie, which did not deter her from entering the apartment.

"That's impossible, Bertrand; you say that because there's somebody here, I suppose, and those are your orders. We know all about that. But I must see him; I have something very important to say to him. Really, my little Bertrand, I'm not joking."