"Good!" she replied. "The harrow ought to be there."
Then as the young man came up with the girl, and they went off in single file down the narrow path, she called out to them again, in her coarse, bantering voice:
"No danger, eh? If you lose yourselves together the chit knows her way about."
Behind them the farmyard was again deserted. Neither had laughed this time. They walked on slowly, and the only sound was that of their shoes striking against the stones. All that Jean noticed of Françoise was the nape of her child-like neck, over which curled some short black hair under her round cap. At last, after going some fifty paces:
"She does wrong to chaff others about the men," said Françoise, sedately. "I might have answered her——"
And turning towards the young fellow with a mischievous upward glance:
"It's true, isn't it, that she is false to Monsieur Hourdequin, just as if she were already his wife? You know as much about that, maybe, as most people."
His eyes fell, and he looked sheepish. "Lord! she does as she likes; it's her affair," he answered.
Françoise had turned her back and was pursuing her road.