She kissed her mother, took her child by the hand and walked away with Pitou. The joiner carried in the coffin when she was gone.
He took her out on the road to Boursonnes, where she went half a league without saying a word to Pitou, listening to the voices of the woodland which talked to her heart.
When she got home, the work was done, and she understood why Ange had insisted on her going out. She thanked him with an eloquent look. She prayed for a long while by the coffin, understanding now that she had but one of the two friends, left, her mother and Pitou, when Isidore died.
"You must come away," said the peasant, "or I must go and hire a nurse for Master Isidore."
"You are right, Pitou," she said. "My God, how good Thou art to me—and how I love you, Pitou!"
He reeled and nearly fell over backwards. He leaned up against the wall, choking, for Catherine had said that she loved him! He did not deceive himself about the kind of love, but any kind was a great deal for him.
Finishing her prayer, she rose and went with a slow step to lean on his shoulder. He put his arm round her to sustain her; she allowed this. Turning at the door, she breathed: "Farewell, mother!" and went forth.
Pitou stopped her at her own door. She began to understand Pitou.
"Why, Miss Catherine," he stammered, "do you not think it is a good time to leave the farm?"