"My mother? Calm yourself It was only that the demoiselle ran after me to give this plate of fruit. Will you not taste it?"
"Taste gift of hers? Enfante fausse!" and she pushed aside the offered strawberries which rolled plentifully from the plate and were scattered on the ground.
"Ah, no, my mother! Not false! The youngest angel in heaven is not more true and good than Mademoiselle Muriel. But you will not think so--I remind me often how you beat me for her sake. Beat me again, my mother, if so it please you; but she is good and very beautiful."
"Sacr-ré!" she ground out from between her clenched teeth, with flashing eyes glancing up and down the road; and then she started with a sob of afright, and a tremor ran through her frame as she composed herself to speak quite calmly. "I see thy father coming home. He must not know of what we have spoken, if thou would'st have thy mother's blessing when I die. Pick up thy berries. It was a heedless gesture of my arm which upset them. Thou can'st say so much." And she went indoors, leaving Pierre in bewilderment to gather the fruit.
That his mother, so gentle and fond, so sober, industrious and sensible, should break out like one beside herself, if their ladies' niece were but named, was unaccountable. A mystery, and one he dared not even try to solve. She had threatened to curse him if he did but inquire. And yet it was only before himself that she betrayed her feeling. In his father's presence she showed no sign, but would discuss the niece of their mistresses with him with the same composure as their horses, sheep or cattle. And yet mademoiseile was so sweet! And as he thought of her the bewilderment vanished in his mind like mist before the morning sun, and he forgot even to pick up his strawberries scattered around, while he knelt on the threshold.
"Heh, Pierre! On thy knees before sundown? Will the rosary not keep till bedtime?" said Jean, the father, stepping past him into the house.
"I am picking up some strawberries I let fall just now. Mademoiselle Muriel brought me them as I went home."
"She is an angel of considerateness and kindness--never forgets the poor for the sake of the rich--just like monsieur the general, her grandfather, if so please the ladies, and the demoiselles his daughters. A family most generous, even if they are not French and good Catholics;" and he crammed half-a-dozen large strawberries into his mouth at once, and gave them a crunch as though to drink the family's health in a bumper of strawberry wine.
Annette looked up from the baby she was nursing, and there was a gleam of red and smothered fire lurking in her eye, and she set her teeth tight to hold back the struggling wish that the girl's gift might choke him; while sire and son seated themselves on the door-sill to consume the collation, the elder, at least, utterly unconscious that aught was amiss.