"At any rate," said he, "Rousille is left to us. She had grown a pretty girl when I was last home on leave, very taking, and with a will of her own! You cannot imagine how often I used to think of her when I was out in Africa, and try to sketch her portrait from memory. Is she as jolly as ever?"
"She is not bad," replied the farmer.
"And a good girl, I hope? She is not the sort to turn herself into a barmaid."
"No, certainly not."
The good-looking young soldier slackened the mare's pace, partly because they had reached a turn in the road where there was a steep descent, partly that he might the better see, at the foot of the sloping ground, the Marais of La Vendée opening out like a gulf. He had only been home once before in his three years of service; with growing emotion he gazed upon the groups of poplars and tiny red roofs standing out from the waste of marshland; his eyes roved from one to the other; his lips trembled as he named the farms one by one; all other emotion was silenced in that of coming home again.
"Parée-du-Mont!" he exclaimed. "What has become of the eldest Ertus?"
"Nothing much; he is in the Customs."
"And Guerineau of la Pinçonnière, who was in the 32nd line regiment?"
"Oh, he went off like François; is conductor on the tramway to Nantes."
"And Dominique Perrocheau of Levrelles?"