pposition; Venus will seek Vesta; Mercury will
disappear in the sun; and the planet without a name, that the deceased
Thael divined by calculation, I saw last night, steering its unknown
route through space to come in conjunction with Jupiter. Ah! if I only
dared disobey my dear mother." He was interrupted by a distant
vibration of the bells of Plouharnel, which rang out the first signal of
the midnight Mass.

Josserande instantly left her wheel.

"It would be a sin to spin one thread more," said she. "Come, my son
Sylvestre, put on your Sunday clothes, and let us be off for the parish
church, if you please."

Sylvestre wished to rise, for never yet had he disobeyed his mother; but
Matheline, seated at his side, detained him and murmured in silvery
tones,--

"My handsome friend, you have plenty of time."

Pol, on his side, said to Dame Josserande,--

"Get your staff, neighbor, and start at once, so as to take your time.
Your god-daughter Matheline will accompany you; and I will follow with
friend Sylvestre, for fear some accident might happen to him with his
lame leg and sightless eye." As he proposed, so it was done; for
Josserande suspected nothing, knowing that her son had promised, and
that he would not break his word.

As they were leaving, Pol whispered to Matheline,--

"Amuse the good woman well, for the fool must remain here."

And the girl replied,--

"Try and see the caldron in which our fortune is cooking. You will tell
me how it is done."

Off the two women started; a large, kind mother's heart full of tender
love, and a sparrow's little gizzard, narrow and dry, without enough
room in it for one pure tear. For a moment Sylvestre Ker stood on the
threshold of the open door to watch them depart. On the gleaming white
snow their two shadows fell--the one bent and already tottering, the
other erect, flexible, and each step seemed a bound. The young lover
sighed. Behind him, in a low voice, Pol Bihan said,--

"Ker, my comrade, I know what you are thinking about, and you are right
to think so; this must come to an end. She is as impatient as you are,
for her love equals yours; for both of you it is too long to wait."

Sylvestre Ker turned pale with joy.

"Do you speak truth?" he stammered. "Am I fortunate enough to be loved
by her?"

"Yes, on my faith!" replied Pol Bihan; "she loves you too well for her
own peace. When a girl laughs too much, it is to keep from
weeping,--that's the real truth."