"Was André’s widow your mother?"
"She took the place of a mother to me, for I never knew my own parents, who died a long time ago; but kind André and his wife adopted me as their child. When he died I was very small; but his wife—it’s only three years since I lost her, and I think of her every day."
The girl’s voice trembled, and she lowered her head over her work; the young men looked at her and saw tears falling from her lovely eyes. Vaillant noticed the change in his mistress’s tone; he raised his head, stood up, and looked at Isaure; then turning his eyes on the strangers, he gave a low growl as if calling them to account for the girl’s tears; but she instantly put her hand on him, patted and caressed him, whereupon the dog became quiet once more and lay down at her feet.
"Forgive us for reviving your grief by our questions," said Alfred; "but travellers are inquisitive—and you are so pretty, you know!—But you must be bored, living all alone?"
"Bored? oh! no, monsieur! I have no time for that; I have so many things to do! My garden requires a great deal of care; and then, have I not company? my dog, my hens, my goats, and my cow?"
"She calls that company!" exclaimed Robineau with a smile of pity. "But you must be afraid here, aren’t you?" he asked Isaure.
"Afraid? no, monsieur; there are no thieves in our mountains; and even if anyone should try to harm me, have I not my faithful Vaillant? Oh! he would defend me stoutly!"
"I certainly wouldn’t want to fight with him," said Robineau.
"True," said Alfred, "that’s a magnificent dog of yours, and of a very valuable breed. They are the dogs that help the good monks on Mont Cenis and Mont Saint-Bernard to find lost travellers, who are often almost dead in the snow."
"Ah! I am sure that Vaillant would do as much!"