nything but contented with me, and
she advised me to marry again. It seems that her heart spoke to her
child to-night, just as he went to sleep. Didn't you hear what he said?
and how his little mouth trembled while his eyes were looking at
something in the air that we couldn't see! He saw his mother, you may be
sure, and she made him say that he wanted you to take her place."

"Germain," Marie replied, greatly surprised and very grave, "you talk
straightforwardly, and all you say is true. I am sure that I should do
well to love you, if it wouldn't displease your relations too much; but
what would you have me do? my heart says nothing to me for you. I like
you very much; but although your age doesn't make you ugly, it frightens
me. It seems to me as if you were something like an uncle or godfather
to me; that I owe you respect, and that there would be times when you
would treat me as a little girl rather than as your wife and your equal.
And then my girl friends would laugh at me, perhaps, and although it
would be foolish to pay any attention to that, I think I should be
ashamed and a little bit sad on my wedding-day."

"Those are childish reasons; you talk exactly like a child, Marie!"

"Well, yes, I am a child," she said, "and that is just why I am afraid
of a man who knows too much. You see, I'm too young for you, for you are
finding fault with me already for talking foolishly! I can't have more
sense than belongs to my years."

"Alas! _mon Dieu_! how I deserve to be pitied for being so awkward and
for my ill-success in saying what I think! Marie, you don't love me,
that's the fact; you think I am too simple and too dull. If you loved me
a little, you wouldn't see my defects so plainly. But you don't love me,
you see!"

"Well, it isn't my fault," she replied, a little wounded by his dropping
the familiar form of address he had hitherto used; "I do the best I can
while I listen to you, but the harder I try, the less able I am to make
myself believe that we ought to be husband and wife."

Germain did not reply. He hid his face in his hands and it was
impossible for little Marie to tell whether he was crying or sulking or
asleep. She was a little disturbed to see him so depressed, and to be
unable to divine what was going on in his mind; but she dared say no
more to him, and as she was too much astonished by what had taken place
to have any desire to go to sleep again, she waited impatiently for
daybreak, continuin