IT was a large farm, as farms go in that part of the world, and had been in the family of Guerin for many years. The head of the family in former days had occupied the white chateau on the top of the hill, but that had long since passed away from the present branch of whom there were left only Madame Guerin, her grandson Victor, and another grandson, one Gaspard, the son of Madame Guerin’s eldest child. Gaspard, too, was in the army and was with the troops at the Dardanelles. Annette spoke of this cousin as a beau gar. He was still at home when Annette arrived at the farm of Le-Coin-du-Pres.
“Is he as nice as Victor?” asked Lucie as the two girls were sitting together in the twilight.
“He is better looking, I think, and older. He will inherit the farm, of course.”
“And Victor?”
“Oh, Victor will arrive. He is of good stuff, although in danger of being spoiled by his grandmother who thinks the world of him.”
“And which do you like better of these two cousins, Annette?”
Annette put her head to one side, and said quite sedately. “One should not say which of two young men one prefers. It should be left to her parents.”
Lucie’s lips parted in surprise. “Did you think I meant in that sense? I was thinking of them as your cousins only.”
“Not such very, very near cousins; we have not the same grandmother.”
“Oh!” Lucie was rather startled. Who had been putting notions in Annette’s head since she saw her last?