"True, but the mare's a fine beast, and a suitor makes a better
appearance if he comes well mounted. You must wear your new clothes and
carry a nice present of game to Père Léonard. You will say that you come
with a message from me, you will talk with him, you will pass the
Sunday with his daughter, and you will return with a _yes_ or a _no_ on
Monday morning."

"Very good," replied Germain calmly, and yet he was not altogether calm.

Germain had always lived a virtuous life, as hard-working peasants do.
Married at twenty, he had loved but one woman in his life, and since he
had become a widower, although he was naturally impulsive and vivacious,
he had never laughed and dallied with any other. He had faithfully
cherished a genuine regret in his heart, and he did not yield to his
father-in-law without a feeling of dread and melancholy; but the
father-in-law had always managed his family judiciously, and Germain,
who had devoted himself unreservedly to the common work, and
consequently to him who personified it, the father of the
family,--Germain did not understand the possibility of rebelling against
sound arguments, against the common interest of all.

Nevertheless, he was sad. Few days passed that he did not weep for his
wife in secret, and, although solitude was beginning to weigh upon him,
he was more terrified at the thought of forming a new union, than
desirous to escape from his grief. He said to himself vaguely that love
might have consoled him if it had taken him by surprise, for love does
not console otherwise. One cannot find it by seeking it; it comes to us
when we do not expect it. This project of marriage, conceived in cold
blood, which Père Maurice laid before him, the unknown fiancée, and,
perhaps, even all the good things that were said of her common-sense and