"So am I," said Edouard.
"Faith," added Robineau, "I give you my word that she doesn’t tempt me in the least!"
"But let us come to the most interesting point," said Alfred; "what sort of looking girl is this Isaure? You have not described her. Is there anything devilish in her face, her features?"
"Well! messieurs, as for that," said the shepherd, "I can’t deny that she ain’t bad-looking—there’s even some folks hereabout who say she’s pretty."
"Oh! yes, father," said Claude’s three sons, "she’s very pretty, Isaure is, and her smile is very sweet!"
"Hold your tongue, little ones!" said Claudine; "you don’t know what you’re talking about! I tell you that there’s something wicked in her blue eyes—something that covers up treachery; and her soft voice is just a cheat to trap people. Besides, as if a little witch like her could be pretty!"
"No," said Robineau, "I agree with the Auvergnate; a witch is always frightful."
"Pretty or not," said the shepherd, "this much is certain, that everybody in this neighborhood keeps out of her way instead of seeking her. When they see her in one direction they go in the other. When she takes her goats to the mountain, they hurry down into the valley; and bless me! they’re quite right, for she’s capable of throwing a spell on you, of bringing you bad luck!"
"Yes, yes," said Claudine; "and if Bastien’s sheep is dead, I know well enough it’s because Isaure patted her the other day."
"Oh, mother!" interposed one of the young Auvergnats, "Bastien’s sheep fell fifty feet."