“Upon my word, that is very fine for a milkmaid,” said Auguste with a smile, “and I am sure that you know more than any of your companions. In that case I will leave Coco’s education in your hands for a few years. Later, we will see—I will have him come to Paris——”
“And Jacqueleine, too, can’t she, my kind friend?” said the boy, taking Auguste’s hand.
“Yes, my boy.—But I am forgetting poor Bertrand, who is waiting for me in some village wine-shop.”
“He’s at our house, monsieur; I left him with my aunt.”
“Let us go and join him then, for I will confess, my dear Denise, that I am dying of hunger and thirst.”
“Mon Dieu! monsieur, and I never thought of asking you. Come along; we shall soon be there.”
They set out for the village. Auguste offered the maid his arm, which she accepted with a blush, hardly daring to lean upon her escort, lest the slightest pressure of her arm should lead him to guess what she would have liked to hide from herself; and even holding her breath, because she was afraid that anything might betray her. Blessed age! blessed age of innocence, when love retains all its modesty, when she whom love assails, while striving to conceal it, allows it to appear in her eyes, in her voice, in her slightest acts! It would unquestionably have been very easy to read the girl’s heart at that moment; but is it possible for a man accustomed to the manœuvres of city coquettes to recognize true love?
They reached the cottage and found Mère Fourcy sitting beside Bertrand and listening with eyes as big as saucers to the tales of battle which the ex-corporal watered with the native wine. Denise’s aunt curtsied again and again to the gentleman from Paris; Denise ran hither and thither, turning everything topsy-turvy in order to give Auguste a dainty luncheon at once; and while she was making it ready, Coco led his kind friend to see Jacqueleine, and Mère Fourcy followed, to call the visitor’s attention to the beauty of her roosters, the size of her eggs, and the gentleness of her cows. After inspecting the cottage, Auguste went into the garden, still under the guidance of Mère Fourcy and Coco; they gave him grapes and other fruit to eat, and presented him with the finest flowers. Auguste expressed great admiration for everything, and each of his encomiums procured for him an additional reverence.
At last the repast was served. It was one o’clock, the universal dinner hour in the village. Denise had worked to such purpose that she was able to offer Auguste a full meal. There were chickens, ducks and rabbits. When he saw the bountifully-laden table, Auguste insisted that his hosts should sit down with him. The villagers made some demur, but the young man declared that he would accept nothing unless they bore him company. They submitted, with renewed curtsies; Auguste took his seat between Denise and his little protégé, with Mère Fourcy opposite; and at his lieutenant’s invitation, Bertrand seated himself beside the aunt.
The meal, enlivened by Auguste’s sallies, Bertrand’s bumpers, and the child’s artless joy, aroused an unfamiliar sentiment in each of those who partook of it. Mère Fourcy, bursting with pride at the idea of dining with such a fine gentleman, sat a foot away from the table, and did not lift her glass without saluting the company. Bertrand was deeply gratified to sit at table with his lieutenant; and, desirous to prove that he was ever mindful of the respect he owed him, he maintained while eating the attitude with which he would present arms; he did not lift his eyes from his plate, even to fill his neighbor’s glass, the result being that he sometimes missed it. The child laughed and chattered, played with Auguste, and fed his goat. Denise spoke very little; she was embarrassed and did not eat, and yet she was conscious of being very happy, seated beside the hare-brained youth who kissed every girl he saw, and who had the secret of winning the love even of those to whom he did not make love.