e?" she cried, as if offended by some
unworthy suspicion.

"Well, but just listen--"

"He was my benefactor, that was all. Ah! he would have liked to make me
his wife, but--"

"But," said Rouget, taking the hand which Flore had snatched away from
him, "if he was nothing to you you can stay here with me, can't you?"

"If you wish it," she said, dropping her eyes.

"No, no! if you wish it, you!" exclaimed Rouget. "Yes, you shall
be--mistress here. All that is here shall be yours; you shall take care
of my property, it is almost yours now--for I love you; I have always
loved you since the day you came and stood there--there!--with bare
feet."

Flore made no answer. When the silence became embarrassing, Jean-Jacques
had recourse to a terrible argument.

"Come," he said, with visible warmth, "wouldn't it be better than
returning to the fields?"

"As you will, Monsieur Jean," she answered.

Nevertheless, in spite of her "as you will," Jean-Jacques got no
further. Men of his nature want certainty. The effort that they make in
avowing their love is so great, and costs them so much, that they feel
unable to go on with it. This accounts for their attachment to the first
woman who accepts them. We can only guess at circumstances by results.
Ten months after the death of his father, Jean-Jacques changed
completely; his leaden face cleared, and his whole countenance breathed
happiness. Flore exacted that he should take minute care of his person,
and her own vanity was gratified in seeing him well-dressed; she always
stood on the sill of the door, and watched him starting for a walk,
until she could see him no longer. The whole town noticed these changes,
which had made a new man of the bachelor.

"Have you heard the news?" people said to each other in Issoudun.

"What is it?"

"Jean-Jacques inherits everything from his father, even the
Rabouilleuse."

"Don't you suppose the old doctor was wicked enough to provide a ruler
for his son?"

"Rouget has got a treasure, that's certain," said everybody.

"She's a sly one! She is very handsome, and she will make him marry
her."

"What luck that girl has had, to be sure!"

"The luck that only comes to pretty girls."

"Ah, bah! do you believe that? look at my uncle Borniche-Herau. You have
heard of Mademoiselle Ganivet? she was as ugly as seven capital sins,
but for all that, she got three thousand francs a year out of him."

"Yes, but that was in 1778."

"Still, Ro