“Bless my soul! how stupid they all are!”
“Who, my girl?”
“Why Gros-Jean and Lucas and Bastien.”
“They’re the sharpest fellows in the village! What are you thinking about, to say that? Gros-Jean, who’s so funny when he dances and always mixes up the figures on purpose! Lucas, who’s taken the prize at goose three years running! And Bastien, who’s been to Paris twice and learned to play at quarter-staff! And you call those boys stupid!”
“Bless me! aunt, it seemed to me that they didn’t say anything to me but things that didn’t amuse me.”
“But you used to laugh so loud with ‘em! I tell you you’re sick, my child; when we go home, I’m going to make you eat a good dish of peas and pork before you go to bed; that’ll do you good.”
Denise did not feel sick; she did not herself know why she was not enjoying herself. At last the hour for retiring arrived, and the girl was secretly well pleased to return to the cottage and leave her companions, who glanced sneeringly at her and said to one another:
“Something’s the matter with Denise, that’s sure! At all events, if she’s always the way she is to-day, the fellows will soon give up liking her and making love to her.”
In spite of, or perhaps because of, the dish of peas and pork, Denise slept little. She thought, not precisely of the fine gentleman who had flattered her and kissed her and picked her up after her fall, but of the one who proposed to take care of poor Coco; of the money of which she was the depositary, and of the means of making the child happier.
At daybreak she left her bed. After completing her morning chores, she made her escape and hurried to the Calleux cabin. She saw the child playing in front of the door and was delighted to speak to him without witnesses.