gression against the dignity of country manners; this time wasted
in foolish, empty words; this home so different from his own; and above
all, that deep uneasiness which comes to a laborer of the fields when
he leaves his accustomed toil: all the trouble and annoyance of the past
few hours made Germain long to be with his child and with his little
neighbor. Even had he not been in love, he would have sought her to
divert his mind and raise his spirits to their wonted level.

But he looked in vain over the neighboring meadows. He saw neither
little Marie nor little Pierre, and yet it was the hour when shepherds
are in the fields. There was a large flock in a pasture. He asked of
a young boy who tended them whether the sheep belonged to the farm of
Ormeaux.

"Yes," said the child.

"Are you the shepherd? Do boys tend the flocks of the farm, amongst
you?"

"No, I am taking care of them to-day, because the shepherdess went away.
She was ill."

"But have you not a new shepherdess, who came this morning?"

"Yes, surely; but she, too, has gone already."

"What! gone? Did she not have a child with her?"

"Yes, a little boy who cried. They both went away after they had been
here two hours."

"Went away! Where?"

"Where they came from, I suppose. I did n't ask them."

"But why did they go away?" asked Germain, growing more and more uneasy.

"How the deuce do I know?"

"Did they not agree about wages? Yet that must have been settled
before."

"I can tell you nothing about it I saw them come and go, nothing more."

Germain walked toward the farm and questioned the farmer. Nobody could
give him an explanation; but after speaking with the farmer, he felt
sure that the girl had gone without saying a word, and had taken the
weeping child with her.

"Can they have been ill-treating my son?" cried Germain.

"It was your son, then? How did he happen to be with the little girl?
Where do you come from, and what is your name?"

Germain, seeing that after the fashion of the country they were
answering him with questions, stamped his foot impatiently, and asked to
speak with the master.

The master was away. Usually, he did not spend the whole day when he
came to the farm. He was on horseback, and he had ridden off to one of
his other farms.

"But, honestly," said Germain, growing very anxious, "can't you tell me
why this girl left?"

The farmer and his wife exchanged an odd smile. Then the former answered
that he