father," said he, "if you wish to give me a new mother, I hope
it will be little Marie."

And without waiting for an answer, he closed his eyes and slept.

IX -- Despite the Cold

LITTLE MARIE seemed to give no more heed to the child's odd words than
to regard them as a proof of friendship. She wrapped him up with care,
stirred the fire, and as the fog resting on the neighboring pool gave
no sign of lifting, she advised Germain to lie near the fire and take a
nap.

"I see that you are sleepy already," said she, "for you don't say a word
and you gaze into the fire, just as your little boy was doing."

"It is you who must sleep," answered the husbandman, "and I will take
care of both of you, for I have never felt less sleepy than I do now. I
have fifty things to think of."

"Fifty is a great many," said the little girl, with a mocking accent.
"There are lots of people who would be delighted to have one."

"Well, if I am too stupid to have fifty, I have one, at least, which has
not left me for the past hour."

"And I shall tell it to you as well as I told you those you thought of
before."

"Yes, do tell me if you know, Marie. Tell me yourself. I shall be glad
to hear."

"An hour ago," she answered, "your idea was to eat--and now it is to
sleep."

"Marie, I am only an ox-driver, but, upon my word, you take me for an
ox. You are very perverse, and it is easy to see that you do not care to
talk to me, so go to sleep. That will be better than to pick flaws in a
man who is out of sorts."

"If you wish to talk, let 's talk," said the girl, half reclining
near the child and resting her head against the saddle. "You torment
yourself, Germain, and you do not show much courage for a man. What
would n't I say if I did n't do my best to fight my own troubles?"

"Yes, that's very true, and that 's just what I am thinking of, my
poor child. You are going to live, away from your friends, in a horrid
country full of moors and fens, where you will catch the autumn fevers.
Sheep do not pay well there, and this is always discouraging for a
shepherdess if she means well. Then you will be surrounded by strangers
who may not be kind to you and will not know how much you are worth. It
makes me more sorry than I can tell you, and I have a great desire to
take you home to your mother instead of going on to Fourche."

"You talk very kindly, but there is no reason for your misgivings, my
poor Germain. You ought not to lose