orm your cousin of. Your mother was different, Leon. Dame! I could
never pass her door after your father died but she would stop my wagon
and ask me for just five minutes' counsel. But you young ones are all
alike: the world has got a new pivot, it seems, for this generation, and
it will move round more easily when we graybeards are all kicked out."

"I don't think so, for one." Marie had known she must hear Leon
Roussel's voice, and yet her heart throbbed at his first words. "But, my
cousin, what is the news that thou hast learned about me in Aubette?"

"Well, the news varies: sometimes I hear thee coupled with one girl, and
then again with another, till I do not know what to think, Leon. I am
afraid thou art fickle."

There was a pause. Marie raised herself on one elbow and listened
breathlessly: it never came to her mind that she was listening to talk
not intended for her ears.

"Well, man"--the farmer seemed nettled--"why not speak out and say thou
art promised to old Lesage's daughter?"

"Because I am not promised to her."

Marie stifled a sob. It seemed as if her heart could not much longer
hold in its agitation, she longed so intensely for the farmer's next
question and for Leon's answer.

"Art thou promised to the beauty of the market, the little Marie?"

There was no pause this time. Leon's words came out rapidly with bitter
emphasis: "Marie Famette is going to marry Marais of Vatteville."

"Marry! Ma foi! I hear the girl is very ill. I forget--there is a sick
girl in the wagon now."

It seemed to the listener that Leon spoke heedless of the farmer's last
words: "Once again the town-gossip has deceived you, Michel. I heard a
week ago, and Houlard had just learned it from the Doctor Gueroult, that
Marie Famette is as well and gay as ever. I believe she has come back to
the market."

No reply. The silence that followed oppressed Marie: a sense of
guilt stole over her. It was not likely that old Michel Roussel knew who
she was when he helped her into the wagon: she remembered now that Leon
had told her of his rich cousin at Yvetot; she knew she must get out
soon, and then Leon would see her and know that she had heard him. She
felt sick with shame. Would it not have been more honest to have
betrayed her presence? It was too late now. "And I could not--I have not
the courage." Marie crouched closer under the wall of baskets.

Suddenly, Leon spoke. "Well, Michel, I will get out here," he said.

The wa