“You say, ‘him,'” said Catherine; “why may he not have quarrelled with a woman, against whom he nurses this sullen rage?”
“You have seen something? have you any reason to fear?”
“I have to fear all that a girl may fear when she loves above her station and has an irritated father.”
“It seems to me that in your place,” Pitou ventured to give advice, “I should—no, it nearly killed you to part with him, and to give him up altogether would be your death. Oh, all this is very unfortunate!”
“Hush, speak of something else—here comes father.”
Indeed, seeing his daughter with a man, the farmer rode up at speed: but recognizing Pitou, he asked him in to dinner with less gloom on his face.
“Gracious,” muttered Catherine at the door, “can he know?”
“What?” whispered Pitou.
“Nothing,” replied the girl, going up to her room and closing the shutters.
When she came down, dinner was ready, but she ate little.