As the Christians' Fair, so-called, is one of the great festivals of the town, Brulette went there to dance, and so did I. We thought we should meet Joseph and find out before the end of the day what master and what region he had chosen. But he did not appear either morning or evening on the market-place. No one saw him in the town. He had left his bagpipe, but he had carried off, the night before, all the articles he usually left in Père Brulet's house.
That evening as we came home,—Brulette and I and all her train of lovers with the other young folks of our parish,—she took my arm, and walking on the grassy side of the road away from the others, she said:—
"Do you know, Tiennet, that I am very anxious about José? His mother, whom I saw just now in town, is full of trouble and can't imagine where he has gone. A long time ago he told her he thought of going away; but now she can't find out where, and the poor woman is miserable."
"And you, Brulette," I said, "it seems to me that you are not very gay, and you haven't danced with the same spirit as usual."
"That's true," she answered; "I have a great regard for the poor lunatic fellow,—partly because I ought to have it, on account of his mother, and then for old acquaintance' sake, and also because I care for his fluting."
"Fluting! does it really have such an effect upon you?"
"There's nothing wrong in its effect, cousin. Why do you find fault with it?"
"I don't; but—"
"Come, say what you mean," she exclaimed, laughing; "for you are always chanting some sort of dirge about it, and I want to say amen to you once for all, so that I may hear the last of it."
"Well then, Brulette," I replied, "we won't say another word about Joseph, but let us talk of ourselves. Why won't you see that I have a great love for you? and can't you tell me that you will return it one of these days?"