requently
his glances were thrown skywards, and he interrupted his conversation to
point to the starry vault and exclaim:

"Look at that; look how beautiful it is!"

He is the only peasant I have ever known to admire the sky; or, at
least, he is the only one I have ever seen who was conscious of his
admiration.

"Why, Master Patience," I said to him, "do you think I might be an
honest man if I chose? Do you think that I am not one already?"

"Oh, do not be angry," he answered. "Patience is privileged to say
anything. Is he not the fool of the chateau?"

"On the contrary, Edmee maintains that you are its sage."

"Does the holy child of God say that? Well, if she believes so, I will
try to act as a wise man, and give you some good advice, Master Bernard
Mauprat. Will you accept it?"

"It seems to me that in this place every one takes upon himself to give
advice. Never mind, I am listening."

"You are in love with your cousin, are you not?"

"You are very bold to ask such a question."

"It is not a question, it is a fact. Well, my advice is this: make your
cousin love you, and become her husband."

"And why do you take this interest in me, Master Patience?"

"Because I know you deserve it."

"Who told you so? The abbe?"

"No."

"Edmee?"

"Partly. And yet she is certainly not very much in love with you. But it
is your own fault."

"How so, Patience?"

"Because she wants you to become clever; and you--you would rather not.
Oh, if I were only your age; yes, I, poor Patience; and if I were able,
without feeling stifled, to shut myself up in a room for only two hours
a day; and if all those I met were anxious to teach me; if they said to
me, 'Patience, this is what was done yesterday; Patience, this is what
will be done to-morrow.' But, enough! I have to find out everything
myself, and there is so much that I shall die of old age before finding
out a tenth part of what I should like to know. But, listen: I have yet
another reason for wishing you to marry Edmee."

"What is that, good Monsieur Patience?"

"This La Marche is not the right man for her. I have told her so--yes,
I have; and himself too, and the abbe, and everybody. He is not a man,
that thing. He smells as sweet as a whole flower-garden; but I prefer
the tiniest sprig of wild thyme."

"Faith! I have but little love for him myself. But if my cousin likes
him, what then, Patience?"

"Your cousin does not like him. She thinks he is a good m