"Yes," answered she, quickly; "to go with you in the woods, where we would have a nice little house, children whom I should love; oh! how I should love them! how your Louve would love the children of her Martial; or, rather, if you wished it," said La Louve, trembling, "I would call you my husband; for we shall not have the place unless you consent to this," she hastened to add, quickly.
Martial, in his turn, looked at La Louve with astonishment, not in the least understanding her words. "Of what place do you speak?"
"A gamekeeper's."
"That I shall have?—and who will give it to me?"
"The protectors of the girl whom I have saved."
"Who is she, then?"
I don't know; I can't understand anything; but in my life I have never seen, never heard anything like her; she is like a fairy to read what one has in the heart. When I told her how much I loved you, instantly, on that account, she became interested, not by using hard words (you know how I would have stood that), but by speaking to me of a very laborious, hard life, tranquilly passed with you according to your taste, in the midst of the forest; only, according to her idea, instead of being a poacher you were a gamekeeper, and I your wife; and then our children were to run to meet you when you returned at night from your rounds, with dogs, your gun on your shoulder; and then we should sup at the door of the cabin, in the cool of the evening, under the large trees; and then we would retire to rest so happy, so peaceful. What shall I say? in spite of myself I listened; it was like a charm. If you knew—she spoke so well, so well—that—all that she said, I thought I could see; I dreamed wide awake!"
"Oh! yes; it would be a happy life," said Martial, sighing in his turn; "without being altogether black at heart, poor Francois has associated too much with Calabash and Nicholas; so that the good air of the woods will be much better for him than the air of the city. Amandine could help you in the house; I would be a good keeper, as I was a famous poacher. I should have you for a manager, my brave Louve; and then, as you say, with children, what should we need? When once one is accustomed to the forest, one is quite at home; a hundred years would pass as one day; but, see now, I am a fool. Hold! you should not have spoken to me of this life; it only causes regrets, that's all."
"I let you go on, because you say exactly what I did to La Goualeuse."
"How?"