"Oh, no, of course not," answered the lad warmly. "We respect and care for them as much as men do here in your Marais. Even my mother, who goes gleaning at harvest-time and when the chestnuts are gathered, is never seen working in the fields like a man. No, you may depend on it, our women are more indoors spinning, than doing out-of-door work."
Recalled to the stern conditions of his daily life, the young man grew grave, and added slowly:
"Rest assured, I will never slacken in my work. I am known for more than two leagues round Châtelliers as a lad who has no fear of hard work. We will have our own little house to ourselves, and if only I have your love, Rousille, like my father and mother, I will never complain of any hardships."
He had scarcely ended his speech of humble love-making when a voice from the road called:
"Rousille!"
"We are betrayed!" she said, turning pale. "It is father."
They both remained motionless, with beating hearts, thinking only of the voice that would call again.
And, in truth, it was now heard nearer.
"Rousille!"
She did not resist. Signing to Jean Nesmy to remain under cover of the trees, and bending half double, she made her way out to the path that divided the orchard. There straightening herself, she saw her father standing before her in the road. He looked at his daughter for a moment, as she presented herself, pale, breathless, dishevelled by the branches, then said: