her friend's
disappointment. All the market-place of Aubette had given Leon Roussel
to the charming Marie.

"Leon Roussel! Why, she is as old as he is--older; and, ma foi! how
ugly! and her parents--no one knows where they came from; and she--she
is nothing but a money-grubber."

The day was tedious to Madame Famette. She tried to speak to Leon, but
he avoided her with a distant bow. There was not even Alphonse Poiseau
to help her: only little Pierre Trotin came and carried her baskets to
the donkey-cart. She called at the doctor's house, but she could not see
him. Madame Famette's heart had not been so heavy since her husband
died. "It is that serpent"--she wiped her eyes on a huge blue-and-yellow
pocket handkerchief--"who has done it all; and my poor unsuspecting
child has flirted with Nicolas, and made the way easy. Ciel! what do I
know? It is possible that Marie loves Nicolas, and is willing to throw
herself away on a vaurien with a pair of dark eyes; and the news will
not grieve her as it has grieved me."

She met her servant Jeanne at the entrance of the road, and gave up the
donkey-cart to her care. Then she went on sorrowfully and silently to
find Marie. The door stood ajar, just as she had left it. She went in
more quietly than usual, but Marie heard her. The girl sat just where
her mother had left her: the loaf of bread lay untouched. It was plain
that Marie had gone without breakfast. Her face was very pale, and her
eyes fixed strainingly on her mother, but she did not speak.

Madame Famette's vexation had made her cross, and Marie's pale face
increased her trouble: "How naughty thou art then, Marie! I set thee a
knife and a plate: thou hadst but to stretch out thy hand. Ciel! but the
market tires!" She cut a slice of bread for her daughter, and then she
seated herself.

"Mother"--Marie bent forward and shaded her eyes with her hand--"didst
thou see Leon Roussel?"

Madame's shoulders went up to her ears in a heave of disgust: "Thou
mayest as well know it, Marie: Leon Roussel is promised to Elise Lesage,
and they were together in the market. See what thy folly has caused!"

But Marie scarcely heard her mother's reproaches. The blood flew up to
her face, and then it left her paler than before. She bent lower--lower
yet, until she overbalanced and fell like a crushed lily at her mother's
feet.

IV.

"How is Marie Famette?" Monsieur Houlard the tailor asks of Monsieur
Gueroult the doctor of Aubette