But she pushed me away, saying,—
"He has gone, and it is wisest to forget those who go."
"Even poor José?"
"He! oh, that's different," she answered.
"Why different? You don't answer me. Oh, Brulette, you care for—"
"For whom?" she said, quickly. "What is his name? Out with it, as you know it!"
"It is," I said, laughing, "the black man for whose sake José has given himself over to the devil,—that man who frightened you one night last spring when you were at my house."
"No, no; nonsense! you are joking. Tell me his name, his business, and where he comes from."
"No, I shall not, Brulette. You say we ought to forget the absent, and I would rather you didn't change your mind."
The whole parish was surprised when it was known that the piper had departed before they had thought of discovering who he was. To be sure, a few had questioned him, but he gave them contradictory answers. To one he said he was a Marchois and was named thus and so; to another he gave a different name, and no one could make out the truth. I gave them still another name to throw them off the scent,—not that Huriel the wheat-spoiler need fear any one after Huriel the piper had turned everybody's head, but simply to amuse myself and to tease Brulette. Then, when I was asked where I had known him, I answered, laughing, that I didn't know him at all,—that he had taken it into his head on arriving to accost me as a friend, and that I had answered him in kind by way of a joke.