nd Madame speak in her angry voice
justly in Coquelicot's ear. 'La la! tra la li la!' deep down like so,
full wiz angryness, terreebl', yes! And Coquelicot he jump, oh my! oh
my! never he could jump so of all his life. And the tail bit-ween his
legs, and there that he run, run, as if all devils run after him. Yes,
funny, Petie, vairy funny!" She laughed, and Petie laughed in violent,
noisy peals, as children love to do, each gust of merriment fanning the
fire for another, till all control is lost, and the little one drops
into an irrepressible fit of the "giggles." So they sat under the
pine-trees, the two children, and laughed, and Marie forgot the hunger
at her heart; till suddenly she looked and saw her husband standing
near, leaning on his rake and gazing at her with grave, uncomprehending
eyes. Then the laugh froze on her lips, and she rose hastily, with the
little timid smile which was all she had for Jacques (yet he was hungry
too, so hungry! and knew not what ailed him!) and went to meet him;
while Petie ran away through the grove, as fast as his little legs
would carry him.

CHAPTER VIII.

A FLOWER IN THE SNOW.

The winter, when it came, was hard for Marie. She had never known
severe weather before, and this season it was bitter cold. People
shook their heads, and said that old times had come again, and no
mistake. There was eager pride in the lowest mercury, and the man
whose thermometer registered thirty degrees below zero was happier than
he who could boast but of twenty-five. There was not so much snow as
in milder seasons, but the cold held without breaking, week after week:
clear weather; no wind, but the air taking the breath from the dryness
of it, and in the evening the haze hanging blue and low that tells of
intensest cold. As the snow fell, it remained. The drifts and hollows
never changed their shape, as in a soft or a windy season, but seemed
fixed as they were for all time. Across the road from Jacques De
Arthenay's house, a huge drift had been piled by the first snowstorm of
the winter. Nearly as high as the house it was, and its top combed
forward, like a wave ready to break; and in the blue hollow beneath the
curling crest was the likeness of a great face. A rock cropped out,
and ice had formed upon its surface, so that the snow fell away from
it. The explanation was simple enough; Jacques De Arthenay, coming and
going at his work, never so much as looked at it; but to Mari