Leonard, your daughter is entitled to act as she
pleases, and I have no right to blame her. I would act differently if I
were in her place; I'd be more honest, and I wouldn't let men throw away
their time who probably have something better to do than hang around a
woman who laughs at them. But, after all, if that entertains her and
makes her happy, it's none of my business. But I must tell you one thing
that is a little embarrassing for me to confess since this morning,
seeing that you began by making a mistake as to my intentions and didn't
give me any time to reply; so that you believe something that isn't so.
Pray understand that I didn't come here to ask for your daughter's hand,
but to buy a pair of oxen that you intend to take to the fair next week
and that my father-in-law thinks will suit him."

"I understand, Germain," said Leonard calmly; "you changed your mind
when you saw my daughter with her lovers. That's as you please. It seems
that what attracts one repels another, and you have the right to
withdraw as long as you haven't spoken yet. If you really want to buy
my oxen, come and look at them in the pasture; we'll talk it over, and
whether we strike a bargain or not, you'll come and take dinner with us
before you go back."

"I don't want you to put yourself out," replied Germain, "perhaps you
have business here; I'm a little tired of watching them dance and of
doing nothing. I'll go to look at your cattle, and join you later at
your house."

Thereupon, Germain slipped away and walked toward the meadows, where
Leonard had pointed out some of his beasts in the distance. It was true
that Pere Maurice wanted to buy, and Germain thought that if he should
take back a good yoke at a moderate price, he would be pardoned more
readily for having voluntarily failed to accomplish the real object of
his journey.

He walked fast, and was soon within a short distance of Ormeaux.
Thereupon he felt that he must go and kiss his son and see little Marie
once more, although he had lost the hope and banished from his mind the
thought of owing his happiness to her. All that he had seen and
heard--the vain, giddy woman; the father, at once cunning and shallow,
who encouraged his daughter in her pride and disingenuous habits; the
imitation of city luxury, which seemed to him an offence against the
dignity of country manners; the time wasted in indolent, foolish
conversation, that household so different from his own, and, abov