“No, not he. Some one in his stead.”
“My father!” Alaine clasped her hands over her heart, and again Michelle fell upon her neck with tears and kisses and murmuring words of love.
“When will he come?” Alaine asked. “It is not a false report? You are sure, Michelle?”
“The letter arrived to-day; it was written hurriedly, and is only a line: ‘M. Hervieu is discovered. He will set out as soon as possible for Manhatte. I remain here.’ That was all.”
“Poor Pierre!” sighed Alaine, “he has condemned himself to a life of slavery, I fear. Poor Pierre! There must be a drop of bitterness even in this cup, Michelle.”
“Dear little one, so gloomy and unlike your old self. This will not do—no, no. Here, Papa Louis wants you for a walk; the air is brisk and keen and you have bent over those paper flowers all day. Go out and get a breath.”
“Yes, take her off, Papa Louis. Go, both of you, and do not come back for an hour. We do not want you around. We need all the space we can get, and you are of such a size, Papa Louis, that you are in the way.” And, laughing, Mathilde playfully pushed the good man out of the door. “Bring back Alaine with some color, else I shall be ruined in paint for her cheeks to-night.”
Papa Louis, always good company, was to-day in a high state of jocularity. An entertainment such as this was dear to his heart. He and Mathilde had pored over such books as the little community possessed, had drawn upon their memories and upon their imaginations until they felt that the tableaux would surpass anything of the kind yet shown in the village. It was the kind of thing which gave Papa Louis supreme pleasure. He was in his element. He could quote poetry, he could make reference to classical characters, he could recall historical personages with an ease which awoke a new humility in Michelle, grown accustomed to ordering about this little man, whose knowledge of a husbandman’s crafts was so small, and who so often aroused her mocking laughter by his mistakes. He was superior. Yes, she knew it, and he had stooped to marry her. And so Michelle wore a very meek look these days.
Gerard and Mathilde, two children, frolicked through it all, played jokes upon each other, laughed and danced and quarrelled and kissed between the quarrels, so that it was really quite a hubbub from which Alaine escaped, given, too, a half-dozen other young people to join in the chatter, neighboring maidens and their swains who were to take part in the evening’s festivities.
These were all still there when Alaine returned from her walk, but they were more subdued. They stopped their chatter as Alaine came in and pressed one another’s hands sympathetically. They had an expectant air as Alaine stepped into the room, and cast quick glances at the improvised curtain, the old blue bedspreads hung below the rafters.