But her second thought was that he would return to Saintes-Maries to make the most of his triumph. She knew Renaud well! He was proud of his strength and address. He was spoiled by the public at the races, who applauded with hands and voice, and he loved to hear the “Bravo, Renaud!”—He would return to the town, yes, he surely would!
He might imagine, indeed, that she, Livette, had remained there, and return on her account—and a little on the other’s account, at the same time!—Ah! poor child! suspicion was just beginning to creep into her mind. Just God! suppose that that zingara woman should fascinate her Renaud!
Livette, having found her horse still tied to the church-wall, sent him to the stable at the inn and went to the fisherman Tonin’s to share his bouille-abaisse.
“You did well, Livette,” said Tonin, “you have avoided a sharp squall of the mistral. But I know what I’m talking about; it’s nothing but a squall, and you can go home this afternoon quietly enough. It will be too hot, if anything. But what’s the matter, that you’re so thoughtful?”
Livette heard but little of all that was said at the fisherman’s table, and, after due reflection, returned to Monsieur le curé’s after the meal was at an end.
“Are you still at Saintes-Maries, little one?” he said, with a sad smile.
“I had a fright, my father——”
Livette sometimes addressed the curé thus, because of the custom in confession.
“A fright? how was that?”
“Suppose they have fought, who knows what may have happened? Mon Dieu! chance is uncertain, and that Rampal is so treacherous that Renaud may be the loser. I would like, with your permission, Monsieur le curé, to go up on the roof of the church at once; from there I could see Renaud much sooner if he comes back here.”