"Hold your tongue, liar and good-for-nothing! You'll get killing my cow some day."
Françoise's black eyes flashed fire. She was very pale, and indignantly stammered out:
"Your cow, your cow! You might, at least, say our cow."
"Our cow, indeed? A chit like you with a cow!"
"Yes, half of all that's here is mine. I've a right to take half and destroy it if it amuses me to do so!"
The two sisters stood facing each other, hostile and threatening. It was the first painful quarrel in the course of their long fondness. This question of meum and tuum left them both smarting: the one exasperated by the rebellion of her younger sister, the other obstinate and violent under a sense of injustice. The elder gave way, and went back into the kitchen, so as to restrain herself from boxing her sister's ears. When Françoise, having housed her cows, re-appeared, and went to the pan to cut herself a slice of bread, there was an awkward silence.
Lise, however, had calmed down. The sight of her sister's sullen resistance was now an annoyance to her, and she was the first to speak, thinking to make an end of it by an unexpected piece of news.
"Do you know," she asked, "Jean wants to marry me, and has proposed?"
Françoise, who was standing by the window eating her bread, remained indifferent, and did not even turn round.
"What odds does that make to me?"