“And next,” went on little Pierre, who was proud to have an adventure to tell of, “that man told you something wicked, which you have told me never to repeat and not even remember; so I forgot it right away. Still, if father wishes, I will tell him what it was—”
“No, Pierre, I don’t wish to hear, and I don’t wish you ever to think of it again.”
“Then I will forget it all over again,” replied the child. “Next, that man seemed to be growing angry because Marie told him that she was going away. He told her he would give her whatever she wanted,—a hundred francs! And my Marie grew angry too. Then he came toward her as if he wished to hurt her. I was afraid, and I ran to Marie and cried. Then that man said: ‘What’s that? Where did that child come from? Put it out,’ and he raised his cane to beat me. But my Marie prevented him, and she spoke to him this way: ‘We will talk later, sir; now I must take this child back to Fourche, and then I shall return.’ And as soon as he had left the fold, my Marie spoke to me this way: ‘We must run, my Pierre; we must get away as quickly as we can, for this is a wicked man and he is trying to do us harm.’ Then when we had gone back of the farm-houses, we crossed a little meadow, and we went to Fourche to find you. But you were not there, and they wouldn’t let us wait. And then that man, riding his black horse, came behind us, and we ran on as fast as we could and hid in the woods. And then he followed us, and when we heard him coming, we hid again. And then, when he had passed, we began to run toward home, and then you came and found us, and that is how it all happened. I haven’t forgotten anything, have I, my Marie?”
“No, my Pierre, that is the whole truth. Now, Germain, you must be my witness, and tell everybody in the village that if I did not stay there it was not from want of courage and industry.”
“And, Marie, I want to ask of you whether a man of twenty-eight is too old when there is a woman to be defended and an insult to be revenged. I should like to know whether Bastien or any other pretty boy, ten years better off than I, would not have been knocked to pieces by that man, as Petit-Pierre says. What do you think?”
“I think, Germain, that you have done me a great service, and that I shall be grateful all my life.”
“Is that all?”
“Little father,” said the child, “I forgot to ask little Marie what I promised. I have not had time yet, but I will speak to her at home, and I will speak to my grandmother too.”
The child’s promise set Germain to thinking. He must explain his conduct to his family and give his objections to the widow Guam, and all the while conceal the true reasons which had made him so judicious and so decided. When a man is proud and happy, it seems an easy task to thrust his happiness upon others, but to be repulsed on one side and blamed on the other is not a very pleasant position.
Fortunately, Petit-Pierre was fast asleep when they reached the farm, and Germain put him to bed undisturbed. Then he began upon all sorts of explanations, Father Maurice, seated on a three-legged stool before the door, listened with gravity; and, although he was ill-content with the result of the journey, when Germain told him about the widow’s systematic coquetry, and demanded of his father-in-law whether he had the time to go and pay his court fifty-two Sundays in the year at the risk of being dismissed in the end, the old man nodded his head in assent and answered: “You were not wrong, Germain; that could never be.” And then, when Germain described how he had been obliged to bring back little Marie, with the utmost haste, in order to protect her from the insults or perhaps from the violence of a wicked master, Father Maurice nodded approvingly again and said: “You were not wrong, Germain; that was right.”