The good pastor reflected a moment. It was, in truth, a great pain, and one which he did not expect so soon, to be obliged to confide to this child the secret of his birth; but sooner or later he must know it, and whether to-day or to-morrow mattered little.
"My son," said he, "you are good and reasonable; I hope your conduct will never change. Sit down there near me, and listen."
He related to him what we already know. He did it with gentle and holy words, fitted to pour balm into the wound that he was forced to make. He endeavored especially to show forth the mercy of God and the generosity of the Ragauds. Poor Jeannet little expected such a blow; he became pale as death and for an instant appeared overwhelmed with astonishment and grief. His head was in a whirl; he rose, threw himself on his knees, weeping and clasping his hands. Our curé let this first burst of grief exhaust itself; and then, with kind remonstrance, finished by proving that, after all, grateful joy was more seasonable than this great affliction. How many in his place had been abandoned, without parents, without support, without instruction, condemned to want and suffering, and doubtless lost both for this world and paradise? Instead of such a fate, the good God had warmed the little bird without a nest, had preserved him from evil, had provided for his wants; and now to-day, thanks to all his blessings, he was, more than any other, fitted to become a man worthy to rank with those around him.
"It is true! it is true!" cried Jean-Louis. "But how can I reappear at the farm? Alas! I left it thinking myself the son of the house, and I will re-enter it a foundling!"
"There you do not speak wisely, Jeannet," said our curé; "you will re-enter Muiceron such as you left it, with the only difference that you are now obliged to be still more obedient, more industrious, and more devoted to your parents than ever in the past. It is not by having learned the truth that your position is changed; on the contrary, by not knowing it, you ran the risk of injuring it. When you believed yourself the son of the house, you naturally thought it allowable to follow your inclinations, and act as you wished. Now you must feel that is no longer possible. 'An honest heart must pay its debts.' I know your heart; as for the debt, you see now how important it is. Your life will not suffice to pay it, but you can greatly lessen it by taking upon yourself the interests of your benefactors; by relieving Ragaud, who is growing old, of the heaviest work in the fields; by caring for good Mother Pierrette, who is a true soul of the good God; and even by continuing to consider Jeannette as your sister; which gives you the right to offer her good advice. For remember what I tell you: 'The distaff is known by the wood'; which means that it needs a strong ash-stick to support a roll of hemp, whilst a mahogany wand is only suitable for silk. Hence, I warn you that Jeanne Ragaud, after being accustomed to display herself in the marquis' carriages, will one fine day fancy herself a silken distaff, and we will have to untwist the thread."
"Jeanne will one day know I am not related to her," said Jean-Louis, weeping. "What then can I say to her?"
"Why will she know it? It would be useless to tell her. And besides, the little thing's heart is not spoiled; she will remember that you are the friend of her childhood and her elder."
"Father Ragaud," replied Jeannet, "told me this morning, if I wished to wear the cassock, he would not hinder me."
"Well, then?"
"Well, then, M. le Curé, if I am ever sufficiently learned, can I not aspire to that great favor?"