“Nonsense!” he replied, with singular assurance; “I, on the contrary, have an idea that I shall not want for anything there.”
CHAPTER XLIX
Time gradually heals all wounds, and in less than a year it was difficult to discern any trace of the fierce whirlwind of passion which had devastated the peaceful valley of the Oiselle.
What remained to attest the reality of all these events, which, though they were so recent, had already been relegated to the domain of the legendary?
A charred ruin on the Reche.
A grave in the cemetery, upon which was inscribed:
“Marie-Anne Lacheneur, died at the age of twenty. Pray for her!”
Only a few, the oldest men and the politicians of the village, forgot their solicitude in regard to the crops to remember this episode.
Sometimes, during the long winter evenings, when they had gathered at the Boeuf Couronne, they laid down their greasy cards and gravely discussed the events of the past years.