"Has Monsieur de Châteaubrun no relations with him, although he is so near a neighbor?"
"Oh! that's a very strange thing," said Gilberte, lowering her voice confidentially, "but I may speak to you about it, Monsieur Emile, because it seems to me that you may be able to solve the mystery. My father was very intimate with Monsieur de Boisguilbault in his younger days. I know that much, although he never speaks of him, and Janille avoids answering me when I question her; but Jean, who knows no more than I do about the cause of their rupture, has often told me that he can remember a time when they were inseparable. That is what has always made me think that Monsieur de Boisguilbault is neither so proud nor so cold as he seems; for my father with his good humor and vivacity could never have been on warm terms with a haughty disposition and a cold heart. I must tell you too that I have overheard some conversation about him between my father and Janille, when they thought that I was not listening. My father said that the only irreparable misfortune of his life was the loss of Monsieur de Boisguilbault's friendship, that he should never be consoled for it, and that he would not hesitate to sacrifice an eye or an arm or a leg to recover it. Janille called his lamentations nonsense and advised him not to make the slightest step toward reconciliation because she knew the man well and he would never forget the affair that had made the trouble between them.
"'Very well,' said my father, 'I would prefer to have an explanation, to submit to his reproaches; I would rather have fought a duel with him, when we were of almost equal strength, than have to endure this implacable silence and frigid persistence which cuts me to the heart. No, Janille, no, I shall never be reconciled to it, and if I die without shaking hands with him, I shall regret that I ever lived.'
"Janille tried to divert his mind, and she succeeded, for my father is impressionable and too affectionate to be willing to depress others with his melancholy. But you, Monsieur Emile, who love your parents so dearly, will understand that this secret grief of my father's has weighed heavily on my heart ever since I discovered it. So that I can think of nothing that I would not undertake to relieve him from it. For a whole year I have been thinking about it constantly, and twenty times I have dreamed that I went to Boisguilbault, threw myself at that unforgiving man's feet and said to him:
"'My father is the best of men and your most faithful friend. His virtues have made him happy in spite of his ill-fortune; he has but one sorrow, but it is a deep one and you can dispel it with a word.'
"But he repulsed me and turned me out of his house in a rage. I woke in deadly terror, and one night when I called his name, Janille got up and took me in her arms and said:
"'Why do you think about that wretched man? he has no power over you and he wouldn't dare attack your father.'
"From that I saw that Janille hated him; but whenever she happens to say a word against him, my father warmly defends him. What is there between them? Almost nothing, perhaps. A puerile sensitiveness, a dispute about hunting, so Jean Jappeloup declares. If that were certain, wouldn't it be possible to reconcile them? My father dreams of Monsieur de Boisguilbault too, and sometimes, when he dozes in his chair after supper, he mutters his name in a tone of profound distress. Monsieur Emile, I appeal to your generosity and prudence to induce Monsieur de Boisguilbault to speak, if possible. I have always intended to grasp the first opportunity that presented itself to reconcile two men who have been so closely attached to each other, and if Jean had been fully taken back into the marquis's favor, I should have hoped great things from his boldness and his natural shrewdness. But he too is the victim of a strange caprice on Monsieur de Boisguilbault's part, and I can think of nobody but you who can help me."
"You cannot doubt that will be my most constant endeavor henceforth," said Emile, with fervor. And as he heard Janille returning, her little clogs clattering on the flagstones, he stood on a chair as if to adjust the clock, but really to hide the blissful confusion born of Gilberte's confidence.
Gilberte also was moved. She had made a great effort to summon courage to open her heart to a young man whom she hardly knew; and she was not so childish or so countrified that she did not realize that she had gone beyond conventional propriety.