rice, "I leave you in peace for to-day, Germain;
perhaps to-morrow you will feel more like trusting me, or your
sister-in-law will show more skill in questioning you."

And she picked up her basket to go and stretch her linen on the bushes.

Germain acted like children who make up their minds when they see that
you have ceased to pay any attention to them. He followed his
mother-in-law, and at last gave her the name in fear and trembling--_La
Guillette's little Marie_.

Great was Mere Maurice's surprise: she was the last one of whom she
would have thought. But she had the delicacy not to cry out at it, and
to make her comments mentally. Then, seeing that her silence was
oppressive to Germain, she held out her basket to him, saying: "Well, is
that any reason why you shouldn't help me in my work? Carry this load,
and come and talk with me. Have you reflected, Germain? have you made up
your mind?"

"Alas! my dear mother, that's not the way you must talk: my mind would
be made up if I could succeed; but as I shouldn't be listened to, I have
made up my mind simply to cure myself if I can."

"And if you can't?"

"Everything in its time, Mere Maurice: when the horse is overloaded, he
falls; and when the ox has nothing to eat, he dies."

"That is to say that you will die if you don't succeed, eh? God forbid,
Germain! I don't like to hear a man like you say such things as that,
because when he says them he thinks them. You're a very brave man, and
weakness is a dangerous thing in strong men. Come, take hope. I can't
imagine how a poor girl, who is much honored by having you want her, can
refuse you."

"It's the truth, though, she does refuse me."

"What reasons does she give you?"

"That you have always been kind to her, that her family owes a great
deal to yours, and that she doesn't want to displease you by turning me
away from a wealthy marriage."

"If she says that, she shows good feeling, and it's very honest on her
part. But when she tells you that, Germain, she doesn't cure you, for
she tells you she loves you, I don't doubt, and that she'd marry you if
we were willing."

"That's the worst of it! she says that her heart isn't drawn toward me."

"If she says what she doesn't mean, the better to keep you away from
her, she's a child who deserves to have us love her and to have us
overlook her youth because of her great common-sense."

"Yes," said Germain, struck with a hope he had not before conceived;
"it