teps,
laughed, and Leon Roussel stood an instant pale and defiant, and then
turned back toward Aubette.

"Stay, stay, Monsieur Leon!" Elise darted after him; then, stopping
suddenly, she nodded back at Marie: "Stop and talk to Nicolas, mon
enfant: I will make it all right for you with Monsieur Roussel;" and she
hurried on in pursuit.

But Marie was too angry with Nicolas to give him even a moment: "How
dare he kiss his hand to me? And oh, Leon will think that I wrote that
note to him, and how can I ever tell him the truth? Will Elise Lesage
tell him?"

She had just a faint hope; and then she reproached herself. Why should
not Mademoiselle Lesage tell the truth? She was cross and spiteful, but
then, poor thing! she was old and ugly. "And it may be," Marie thought,
"that one is not half thankful enough for one's gifts, and that it is
very irritating to be plain. It is Alphonse Poiseau who has made me
think evil of Elise, and one should not cherish evil thoughts."

Marie went home happier and lighter-hearted: that little glimpse of
Leon had quieted the sore longing at her heart, and at first the joy of
having seen him made her dwell less on his stern looks and his avoidance
of herself.

She came to the broad grassed turning that leads off the main road to
St. Gertrude. A saddled donkey was grazing on one side, and on the other
an old woman sat on a stone post. She jumped up when she saw Marie. She
had looked tall as she sat: she was as broad as she was long now she
stood erect in her dark striped gown and black jacket, and white cap
with its plain border and lappets pinned together over her forehead.

"Well, well, well!" She spoke in a short bustling voice--a voice that
would have been cheering if it had been less restless. "Hast thou then
seen Leon Roussel, Marie? Hast thou learned the reason of his absence?"

Marie's tender, sweet look vanished: she tossed her pretty head and
pouted: "Leon was not at the market, but I saw him as I came home; only
he was not close to me, so we did not speak."

"Didst thou see that vaurien Nicolas?"

"Yes, I saw him."

Marie blushed, and her mother burst out into angry words: "Foolish,
trifling child that thou art! thou lovest that black-eyed gypsy boy; and
for him, the idle vagabond, thou hast flung away the best _parti_ in
Aubette. Ciel! what do I say? In Bolbec itself there is no one with
better prospects than Leon Roussel." Madame Famette always failed in
managing her daug