Bruno’s countenance assumed a peculiar expression, while Madame Mathurine, who understood matters, drew little Sidonie closer to her side. “Ah, my dear,” she said in a whisper, “if it ever depends upon me it is you he shall choose.” Sidonie clasped Mother Mathurine with gracious joy.
By the side of Monsieur Eugène old Jeannille sat as though transfixed, with her eyes sharply directed at the lame girl. One by one the stars began to blossom in the heavens. Night was come. Nature had fallen asleep and the beautiful silver lights were keeping guard on high.
With renewed thanks to his kind benefactor Bruno, assisted by Mother Mathurine, Jean, and Sidonie, started for home. Sidonie’s face beamed with pleasure as the young man leaned his right arm on her shoulder. Happy Sidonie! How tender were her thoughts for him! She stepped with great care lest her limp should bother him.
The moon now hanging high in the heavens lent an enchantment to the scene, touching with its mellow light the grand old trees and tender flowers. A silence more eloquent than words fell upon the little train; but all in their hearts thanked God for the beautiful night and for preserving the well-beloved Bruno from a violent death.
CHAPTER VI.
DARK DAYS.
October with its kaleidoscopic dress comes on apace. Upon seeing the woods made glorious by the regal hues of gold and scarlet, we are tempted to say that the ending season is not less beautiful in its way than the beginning one. Great yellow patches on the foliage gleam in the wan sunlight. Nature is ablaze with color. The holly boughs are flaunting their bold red berries in the face of the wind, and everywhere the leaves in brilliant confusion flutter through the air.
Now and then in the distance a gun’s report is heard. The gamekeepers are now on the alert for prowling poachers. Water stands in the ditches. The fog is dense at night and in the morning, and the meadows already are often too cold for the flocks. The old belfry in the village—its greatest pride—is a mass of vines, now turned to vivid crimson.
At the door of his little shop stands Andoche the blacksmith, adorned with his leather apron. His brawny arms are bare to the elbows. In one uplifted hand he holds a glass of wine, while with the other he holds Firmin by the arm.