g as she
can satisfy her heart some day and give herself to the man she loves.
She is right. I should do the same in her place, and even now, if I had
my own way, instead of marrying a wife whom I don't care for, I would
choose a girl after my own heart."

The more Germain tried to compose himself by reasoning, the further he
was from succeeding. He walked away a dozen steps, to lose himself in
the fog; then, all of a sudden, he found himself on his knees beside the
two sleeping children. Once he wished to kiss Petit-Pierre, who had
one arm about Marie's neck, and made such a mistake that Marie felt a
breath, hot as fire, cross her lips, and awaking, looked about her with
a bewildered expression, totally ignorant of all that was passing within
his mind.

"I did n't see you, my poor children," said Germain, retreating rapidly.
"I almost stumbled over you and hurt you."

Little Marie was so innocent that she believed him, and fell asleep
again. Germain walked to the opposite side of the fire, and swore to God
that he would not stir until she had waked. He kept his word, but not
without a struggle. He thought that he would go mad.

At length, toward midnight, the fog lifted, and Germain could see the
stars shining through the trees. The moon freed herself from the mist
which had hidden her, and began to sow her diamonds over the damp moss.
The trunks of the oak-trees remained in impressive darkness, but beyond,
the white branches of the birch-trees seemed a long line of phantoms in
their shrouds. The fire cast its reflection in the pool; and the frogs,
growing accustomed to the light, hazarded a few shrill and uneasy
notes; the rugged branches of the old trees, bristling with dim-colored
lichens, crossed and intertwined themselves, like great gaunt arms,
above the travelers' heads. It was a lovely spot, but so lonely and
so sad that Germain, unable to endure it more, began to sing and throw
stones into the water to forget the dread weariness of solitude. He was
anxious also to wake little Marie, and when he saw her rise and look
about at the weather, he proposed that they start on their journey.

"In two hours," said he, "the approach of morning will chill the air so
that we can't stay here in spite of our fire. Now we can see our way,
and we shall soon find a house which will open its doors to us, or at
least a barn where we can pass the rest of the night under shelter."

Marie had no will of her own, and although s