So Jacques De Arthenay sat by his fire till it was cold and dead, a miserable and a wrathful man; and he too slept little that night.
But Marie slept long and peacefully in Sister Lizzie's bed, and looked so pretty in her sleep that Abby came three times to wake her, and three times went away again, unable to spoil so perfect a picture. At last, however, the dark eyes opened of their own accord, and Marie began to chirp and twitter, like a bird at daybreak in its nest; only instead of daybreak, it was eight o'clock in the morning, a most shocking hour for anybody to be getting up. But Abby had been in the habit of spoiling her sister, who had a theory that she was never able to do anything early in the morning, and so it was much more considerate for her to stay in bed and keep out of Abby's way. This is a comfortable theory.
"I suppose you've been an early riser, though?" said Abby, as she poured the coffee, looking meanwhile approvingly at the figure of her guest, neatly attired in a pink and white print gown, which fitted her in a truly astonishing manner, proving, Abby thought in her simple way, that it had really been a "leading,"—her bringing the stranger home last night.
"Oh, but yes," Marie answered. "I help always Old Billy wiz the dogs first, they must be exercise, and do their tricks, and then they are feed. So hungry they are, the dogs! It make very hard not first to feed them, hein?"
"Is—William—feeble?" Abby inquired, with some hesitation.
"Feeble, no!" said Marie, with a little laugh. "But old, you know, and when he is too much drunk it take away his mind; so then I help him, that Le Boss does not find out that and beat him. For he is good, you see, Old Billy, and we make comrades togezzer always."
"Dear me!" said Abby, doubtfully. "It don't seem as if you ought to be going with—with that kind of person, Maree. We don't associate with drinking men, here in these parts. I don't know how it is where you come from."
Oh, there, Marie said, it was different. There the drink did not make men crazy. This was a country where the devil had so much power, you see, that it made it hard for poor folks like Old Billy, who would do well enough in her country, and at the worst take a little too much at a feast or a wedding. But in those cases, the saints took very good care that nothing should happen to them. She did not know what the saints did in this country, or indeed, if there were any.
"Oh, Maree!" cried Abby, scandalised. "I guess I wouldn't talk like that, if I was you. You—you, ain't a papist, are you,—a Catholic?"
Oh, no! Mere Jeanne was of the Reformed religion, and had brought Marie up so. It was a misfortune, Madame the Countess always said; but Marie preferred to be as Mere Jeanne had been. The Catholic girls in the village said that Mere Jeanne had gone straight to the pit, but that proved that they were ignorant entirely of the things of religion. Why, Le Boss was a Catholic, he; and everybody knew that he had the evil eye, and that it was not safe to come near him without making the horns.