"Ah! Catherine, if it were true--that!" cried the bewitched child.

"It is true, it is so true that Nicolas, the handsomest man in the
canton, is mad about you; he dreams of you, he is losing his mind; and
yet all the other girls are in love with him. He is a fine lad! If
you'll put on a white dress and yellow ribbons, and come to Socquard's
for the midsummer ball, you'll be the handsomest girl there, and all
the fine people from Ville-aux-Fayes will see you. Come, won't you?
--See here, I've been cutting grass for the cows, and I brought some
boiled wine in my gourd; Socquard gave it me this morning," she added
quickly, seeing the half-delirious expression in La Pechina's eyes
which women understand so well. "We'll share it together, and you'll
fancy the men are in love with you."

During this conversation Nicolas, choosing the grassy spots to step
on, had noiselessly slipped behind the trunk of an old oak near which
his sister had seated La Pechina. Catherine, who had now and then cast
her eyes behind her, saw her brother as she turned to get the boiled
wine.

"Here, take some," she said, offering it.

"It burns me!" cried Genevieve, giving back the gourd, after taking
two or three swallows from it.

"Silly child!" replied Catherine; "see here!" and she emptied the
rustic bottle without taking breath. "See how it slips down; it goes
like a sunbeam into the stomach."

"But I ought to be carrying the milk to Mademoiselle Gaillard," cried