gendarme who had tried to kill him. She had learnt the real
story from a labourer who had worked for a time at the Jas-Meiffren.
From that moment, on the few occasions when she went out, she no longer
even turned if the ragamuffins of the Faubourg followed her, crying:
"Hey! La Chantegreil!"

She simply hastened her steps homeward, with lips compressed, and black,
fierce eyes. Then after shutting the gate, she perhaps cast one long
glance at the gang of urchins. She would have become vicious, have
lapsed into fierce pariah savagery, if her childishness had not
sometimes gained the mastery. Her extreme youth brought her little
girlish weaknesses which relieved her. She would then cry with shame for
herself and her father. She would hide herself in a stable so that she
might sob to her heart's content, for she knew that, if the others saw
her crying, they would torment her all the more. And when she had wept
sufficiently, she would bathe her eyes in the kitchen, and then again
subside into uncomplaining silence. It was not interest alone, however,
which prompted her to hide herself; she carried her pride in her
precocious strength so far that she was unwilling to appear a child. In
time she would have become very unhappy. Fortunately she was saved by
discovering the latent tenderness of her loving nature.

The well in the yard of the house occupied by aunt Dide and Silvere was
a party-well. The wall of the Jas-Meiffren cut it in halves. Formerly,
before the Fouques' property was united to the neighbouring estate, the
market-gardeners had used this well daily. Since the transfer of the
Fouques' ground, however, as it was at some distance from the outhouses,
the inmates of the Jas, who had large cisterns at their disposal, did
not draw a pail of water from it in a month. On the other side, one
could hear the grating of the pulley every morning when Silvere drew the
water for aunt Dide.

One day the pulley broke. The young wheelwright made a good strong one
of oak, and put it up in the evening after his day's work. To do this
he had to climb upon the wall. When he had finished the job he remained
resting astride the coping, and surveyed with curiosity the large
expanse of the Jas-Meiffren. At last a peasant-girl, who was weeding the
ground a few feet from him, attracted his attention. It was in July, and
the air was broiling, although the sun had already sank to the horizon.
The peasant-girl had taken off her jacket. In a