gaut, answer the question put by that
strange moral fact. Modern history offers only the illustrious instance
of the Marchesa di Pescara and her husband. Destined to marry by their
parents from their earliest years, they adored each other and were
married, and their union gave to the sixteenth century the noble
spectacle of a perfect conjugal love without a flaw. When the marchesa
became a widow at the age of thirty-four, beautiful, intellectually
brilliant, universally adored, she refused to marry sovereigns and
buried herself in a convent, seeing and knowing thenceforth only nuns.
Such was the perfect love that suddenly developed itself in the heart
of the Breton workman. Pierrette and he had often protected each other;
with what bliss had he given her the money for her journey; he had
almost killed himself by running after the diligence when she left him.
Pierrette had known nothing of all that; but for him the recollection
had warmed and comforted the cold, hard life he had led for the last
three years. For Pierrette's sake he had struggled to improve himself;
he had learned his trade for Pierrette; he had come to Paris for
Pierrette, intending to make his fortune for _her_. After spending a
fortnight in the city, he had not been able to hold out against the
desire to see her, and he had walked from Saturday night to Monday
morning. He intended to return to Paris; but the moving sight of his
little friend nailed him to Provins. A wonderful magnetism (still denied
in spite of many proofs) acted upon him without his knowledge. Tears
rolled from his eyes when they rose in hers. If to her he was Brittany
and her happy childhood, to him she was life itself.

At sixteen years of age Brigaut did not yet know how to draw or to model
a cornice; he was ignorant of much, but he had earned, by piece-work
done in the leisure of his apprenticeship, some four or five francs a
day. On this he could live in Provins and be near Pierrette; he would
choose the best cabinet-maker in the town, and learn the rest of his
trade in working for him, and thus keep watch over his darling.

Brigaut's mind was made up as he sat there thinking. He went back to
Paris and fetched his certificate, tools, and baggage, and three days
later he was a journeyman in the establishment of Monsieur Frappier,
the best cabinet-maker in Provins. Active, steady workmen, not given to
junketing and taverns, are so rare that masters hold to young men like
Brigaut w