"Who knows? Who can say? Not to shrink from a life that is hard, but honest, will ensure success. So, then, work would not frighten you?"
"Oh, certainly not! It is not a husband and four or five brats to take care of that would give me any trouble!"
"But then it would not be all work; there are moments for rest. In the winter evenings, when the children were put to bed, and your husband smoked his pipe whilst he was cleaning his gun or caressing his dogs, you would have a little leisure."
"Leisure,—sit with my arms crossed before me! Ma foi! No, I would rather mend the linen, by the side of the fire in the evening. That is not a very hard job, and in winter the days are so short."
As Fleur-de-Marie proceeded, La Louve forgot more and more of the present for the dreams of the future, as deeply interested as La Goualeuse had been before her, when Rodolph had talked to her of the rustic delights of the Bouqueval farm. La Louve did not attempt to conceal the wild tastes with which her lover had inspired her. Remembering the deep and wholesome impression which she had experienced from the smiling picture of Rodolph in relation to a country life, Fleur-de-Marie was desirous of trying the same means of action on La Louve, thinking, with reason, that, if her companion was so far affected at the sketch of a rude, poor, and solitary life, as to desire ardently such an existence, she merited interest and pity. Delighted to see her companion listen to her with attention, La Goualeuse continued, smiling:
"And then you see, Madame Martial,—let me call you so,—what does it matter—"
"Quite the contrary; it flatters me." Then La Louve shrugged her shoulders, and, smiling, also added, "What folly to play at madame! Are we children? Well, it's all the same; go on,—it's quite amusing. You said—"
"I was saying, Madame Martial, that in speaking of your life, the winter in the thickest of the woods, we were only alluding to the worst of the seasons."
"Ma foi! No, that is not the worst. To hear the wind whistle all night in the forest, and the wolves howl from time to time far off, very far off,—I shouldn't tire of that; provided I was at the fireside with my man and my children, or even quite alone, if my man was going his rounds. Ah, I am not afraid of a gun! If I had my children to defend, I could do that,—the wolf would guard her cubs!"
"Oh, I can well believe you! You are very brave—you are; but I am a coward. I prefer spring to the winter, when the leaves are green, when the pretty wild flowers bloom, and they smell so sweet, so sweet that the air is quite scented; and then your children would roll about so merrily in the fresh grass; and then the forest would be so thick that you could hardly see your house in the midst of the foliage,—I can fancy that I see it now. In front of the house is a vine full of leaves, which your husband has planted, and which shades the bank of turf where he sleeps during the noonday heat, whilst you are going backwards and forwards desiring the children not to wake their father. I don't know whether you have remarked it, but in the heat of summer about midday there is in the woods as deep silence as at midnight, you don't hear the leaves shake, nor the birds sing."