At that very moment Marie and Pierre came into the work-shop all chatter and laughter, delighted with their excursion, and bringing with them the bright joyousness of the sunlight. The three brothers, Thomas, Francis and Antoine, were jesting with them, and trying to make them confess that Pierre had at least fought a battle with a cow on the high road, and ridden into a cornfield. All at once, however, they became quite anxious, for they noticed that their father looked terribly upset.
“My lads,” said he, “I’ve just been a coward. Ah! it’s a curious feeling, I had never experienced it before.”
Thereupon he recounted his fears of an accident, and how quietly Mère-Grand had saved them all from certain death. She waved her hand, however, as if to say that there was nothing particularly heroic in turning off a tap. The young men’s eyes nevertheless filled with tears, and one after the other they went to kiss her with a fervour instinct with all the gratitude and worship they felt for her. She had been devoting herself to them ever since their infancy, she had now just given them a new lease of life. Marie also threw herself into her arms, kissing her with gratitude and emotion. Mère-Grand herself was the only one who did not shed tears. She strove to calm them, begging them to exaggerate nothing and to remain sensible.
“Well, you must at all events let me kiss you as the others have done,” Guillaume said to her, as he recovered his self-possession. “I at least owe you that. And Pierre, too, shall kiss you, for you are now as good for him as you have always been for us.”
At table, when it was at last possible for them to lunch, he reverted to that attack of fear which had left him both surprised and ashamed. He who for years had never once thought of death had for some time past found ideas of caution in his mind. On two occasions recently he had shuddered at the possibility of a catastrophe. How was it that a longing for life had come to him in his decline? Why was it that he now wished to live? At last with a touch of tender affection in his gaiety, he remarked: “Do you know, Marie, I think it is my thoughts of you that make me a coward. If I’ve lost my bravery it’s because I risk something precious when any danger arises. Happiness has been entrusted to my charge. Just now when I fancied that we were all going to die, I thought I could see you, and my fear of losing you froze and paralysed me.”
Marie indulged in a pretty laugh. Allusions to her coming marriage were seldom made; however, she invariably greeted them with an air of happy affection.
“Another six weeks!” she simply said.
Thereupon Mère-Grand, who had been looking at them, turned her eyes towards Pierre. He, however, like the others was listening with a smile.
“That’s true,” said the old lady, “you are to be married in six weeks’ time. So I did right to prevent the house from being blown up.”
At this the young men made merry; and the repast came to an end in very joyous fashion.