"Has she been here, monsieur?"

"Oh ja! she's been twice to ask for news of the young man."

"And she told you nothing about Monsieur Auguste?"

"Sacretie! don't I tell you that she came to ask about him? Don't you understand?"

"Do you know her address, monsieur?"

"The little hussy's?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"No, I don't know it."

Schtrack resumed his smoking, and as Denise could learn nothing from him, she turned away, regretting that she did not know Virginie's address. If she had, she would have gone to see her, not because she supposed her to be any better informed than herself concerning the whereabouts of the travellers, but because she could, at least, have talked with her about Auguste; and it is so great a delight to talk of the person we love, especially with someone who understands us!

Several more months pa.s.sed without bringing any news of Auguste, nor had Virginie come to the village. Hope began to fade in Denise's heart, but love did not die out; that sentiment, when it is genuine, defies obstacles, time, and absence, and it alone does not pa.s.s away when everything about it pa.s.ses away.

Denise was seventeen years of age. She had grown no taller, but her features seemed to have acquired a greater charm, her face more expression; the secret sentiment that engrossed her thoughts gave to her features a gentle melancholy which was most becoming to her sweet face.

Village maidens rarely have that look; perhaps that is why the young men of Montfermeil and the neighborhood found in Denise a something that fascinated them and turned their heads. But she had very little to say to them, she no longer laughed and joked with them, she shunned their dances and their sports; and the other girls sneered at the little milkmaid, saying:

"How high and mighty she is! She puts on the airs of a great lady! She's trying to copy city folks. But with her scowling face she won't get any lovers."

Despite the prophecies of the peasants, Denise, involuntarily and unconsciously, made conquests every day; and the village maidens, with all their loud laughter, their merriment and the l.u.s.ty blows they dealt out to the beaux of the neighborhood, saw that they all sighed for her who did nothing to attract them. And as Denise, in addition to her sweet face, was an excellent match, several young men applied to Mere Fourcy for her hand.

The excellent aunt had noticed that there had been something wrong with her niece for a long time; but she was convinced that marriage would rid her of that something which caused her to sigh night and day. Mere Fourcy flattered herself that she had had much experience, and remembered that a great many young women, after taking unto themselves husbands, recover the fresh color that is beginning to fade. So one fine morning she went to her niece, who was, as usual, alone in the garden of Coco's cottage.

"My child," said Mere Fourcy, sitting down beside her, "I have come here to talk to you about something."

"Whatever you please, aunt," replied the girl, with her eyes fixed on a marguerite from which she had just plucked the petals, and in which she had read that the young traveller loved her dearly.

"My child, you were seventeen years old on Saint-Pierre's day. A girl of seventeen ain't a child any longer--do you understand that, Denise?"

"Oh, yes, aunt!"

"Besides, you've known all about housekeeping for a long time, and your sewing's like a charm, and you make cheeses that a body could eat all day long without hurting 'em; and then you know all the ins and outs of a house. You're active and a good worker; you have three times more wit than you need to guide a man who might try to go wrong; and morguenne!

the man who gets you won't ever regret it!"

Denise looked at Mere Fourcy in surprise, and faltered:

"I don't understand, aunt."

"That makes a difference, my dear; I'll cut it short. You're old enough to get married, and there's several chances offered. First of all, big Fanfan Jolivet, and then neighbor Mauflard's nephew, and tall Claude-Jean-Pierre-Nicolas Lathuille, who's just inherited his father's estate; there's lots more too that would like you, but those three are the best fixed. They're good boys and hard workers. It's your business to choose which one you want for a husband."

Denise had turned pale and shown great embarra.s.sment during her aunt's speech; but she glanced again at the remains of her marguerite and replied in a very low tone:

"I don't want any one of them, aunt."

"What do you say, my child?"

"I say that--that I don't want to marry."

"You don't want to marry? Nonsense! You're joking when you say that! As if girls mustn't marry! I tell you, on the contrary, marriage will do you good. For a long time now you haven't been yourself, you don't laugh or sing any more. A husband, my child, makes you sing, brings back your spirits, and--Great heaven! you're crying, my poor Denise! Do you think I mean to make you feel bad? No, no! I'll send all your suitors to the devil first. My poor child crying! I don't want you to do that. Come, tell me right away what makes you cry."

"To have to refuse you, aunt."

"The idea of crying for that! Do you think I'll ever drive you to do what you don't want to do?"

"Oh, no! you're so kind to me, aunt!"

"But if you cry, I'll scold you. You don't want any of these husbands, so we won't say any more about it, my child. But, jarni! something's the matter with you, all the same. A girl don't sigh all day thinking about flies."

"Oh, aunt!"

"Tell me what the trouble is, my child."

"I don't dare to."

"I want you to dare to. You've got a pain in your heart, that's sure."

"Oh! I am very silly! I know that."

"You, silly! you, the cleverest, the smartest, the shrewdest girl in the world! Anyway, my dear, a body don't cry because she's silly. It can't be you're in love with anybody, are you?"

Denise heaved a profound sigh, and replied at last, lowering her eyes:

"Yes, aunt."

"Well, my dear, there's no law against it! and if it ain't one of the fellows that's offered himself, why, never mind, so long as he's an honest man and will make you happy; for he loves you dearly too, no doubt?"

"No, aunt, he doesn't love me at all; he doesn't give me a thought."

"Jarni! I'll go and tear his eyes out! Do you mean to say he's forgotten you, or deceived you? The idea of my Denise loving him, and him not being too happy to marry her!"

"But he has never spoken of marrying me, aunt."

"Then he's a deceiver, is he, a rake?"

"No, aunt; but he's--it's that gentleman from Paris."

"Monsieur Dalville?"

"Yes, aunt."

"O mon Dieu! what on earth are you thinking about, Denise? You're in love with a fine gentleman from Paris, a man in the best society, a man who would never look at a peasant girl!"

"Oh, yes! he did look at me a great deal, I a.s.sure you."