The old man looked at her with a mischievous expression, and continued:
“So it is not the patron Bernard who is going to Nice?”
“No, Master Peyrou.” “Then it must be the pilot Terzarol.”
“The pilot Terzarol!” cried Stephanette, clasping her hands, “may Our Lady help me, if I know anything about this pilot going to sea.”
“Well, well, my child, I was mistaken about Bernard, for it is true that you have allowed his bouquet to wither, but I am not mistaken about Terzarol, because yesterday, from the height of the castle turret, you passed more than two hours looking at the bold pilot throwing nets.” “I, Master Peyrou, I?”
“Your very self, Stephanette, and at each cast of the net, Terzarol waved his cap in triumph, and you waved your handkerchief in congratulation; he ought to have made a good haul, so enthusiastically did he labour,—you come then to ask me if Terzarol will have a good voyage to Nice?”
This time Stephanette began to feel afraid, as she realised how much the watchman knew.
“Ah, my faith, Master Peyrou, you know everything!” cried she, innocently.
The old man smiled, shook his head, and replied in the words of the Provencal proverb, “Experienco passo scienco,—experience passes science.”
The poor child, fearing that the watchman’s marvellous discoveries concerning her innocent coquetry might give him a bad opinion of her, cried, with tears in her eyes, as she clasped her hands: