Of course, the farmer did not find the intruder, but he found the broken Chaumontel pear-tree, and he saw the pears scattered on the ground.
"The unmitigated scoundrel," he muttered, "if I saw him now—looking at his gun—I'd make him decamp. I'd send a few shots into his dirty hide."
CHAPTER X.
'Twixt Love and Duty.
ne evening—it was the first week in June, about nine months after Frank's adventure in the garden—Adèle Rougeant was tending her flowers.
She had been sewing for a time, and now, feeling a want of relaxation, she went to her parterre. Her violin and her flowers were her only companions. No wonder she fled to them when inclined to be sorrowful.