For the first time since the memorable day when he had suffered so cruelly on learning the secret of his birth, Jeannet felt his poor heart ache with a similar grief. Pierrette, who thought it perfectly natural to have opened his eyes to such a desirable event, continued her spinning. Seeing Jean-Louis in deep thought, and receiving no answer, she simply fancied her argument had been conclusive, and that he felt the necessity of establishing himself, and so was debating in his own mind the relative attractions of the girls in the neighborhood. Besides, Jeannet's back was to her, and she did not see the change in his face.
"Think a little," said she, pursuing her idea; "there is no greater pleasure for parents who feel themselves growing old than to see their children well married. Then they can die in peace, thinking that, after they are gone, nothing will be changed; only, instead of the old people, young ones will take their place, the work will go on, all hearts will be happy, and kind prayers and fond recollections will follow them to the tomb."
"Oh!" cried Jean-Louis, covering his face with his hands, "if you say another word, I will die!"
"What!" said Pierrette, "die—of what? Are you ill?"
Jeannet, in spite of his twenty years, burst into tears like a little child; he clasped Pierrette in his arms, fondly embraced her, and said in a tone melting with tenderness:
"My mother, my dear, dear mother, I shall never marry—never, do you hear? And I beg of you never to mention the subject again. I have but one heart, and that I have given you undivided; nothing remains for another. When you speak of marriage, it makes us think of death and the grave; and that is beyond my strength—I cannot speak of it. If the good God calls you before me, my dearest mother, it will not be long before I rejoin you; and thus it will be better for me to die single than to leave a family after me. And now, as I do not wish to marry, and you only desire my happiness, do not urge me further."
"Your heart is too gentle for a man," said Pierrette, feeling the tears of her dear child on her brow; "you make me happy, even while opposing me, and I see that I have made you unhappy without wishing it. Be consoled, my Jeannet; we will never speak of it again. If you change your mind, you will tell me. Meanwhile, we will live as before. Don't be worried; it will be a long time yet before we leave you. I am in good health, and your father also; and so Muiceron will not change masters soon."
"No, no, thank God!" cried Jean-Louis; "the Blessed Virgin will watch over us. We have not lived together for twenty years now to separate, my darling mother!"
Truth to say, this was not very sound argument, for, whether twenty years together, or thirty, or forty, friends must separate, all the same, at the appointed hour; but Jeannet spoke with his heart torn with sorrow, and Pierrette was perfectly willing to acknowledge, in her turn, that she really desired things should happen as he wished.
From that time the question of marriage was put in her pocket, and never taken out again. God and his holy angels looked down with delight upon this innocent household, full of tenderness and kindness, and did not allow evil to overshadow it. However, the child Jeannette deserved to be cured of her little sins of vanity, and you will see the means taken by the Heavenly Father to make her a Christian according to his will.