Thereupon he recounted to his astonished friends what we already know, but went into greater details than I have thought necessary.
"We can only pray to God," said Solange when he had ended. "Alas! poor Jeannette, what will become of her? M. Michou, you must warn the Ragauds."
"You think that would be easy?" said Michou. "In the first place, they would not believe me. Monsieur and mademoiselle would be indignant. The Perdreaux are too thorough scoundrels not to have at hand a crowd of proofs and protestations which would make them appear as white as snow. Every one is against us, up to that obstinate Jeannette, who is dead in love with Isidore, so they say—hare-brained little fool!"
"It is only too true," said Jeannet, much overcome.
"As for you," resumed Michou, "in consequence of your peculiar position, you can say less than any one else; but if I were in your place, I would not remain an indifferent spectator of such a sad affair."
"What can I do?" said Jeannet. "How can I abandon them?"
"Come and stay with me a while. I am clearing a part of the wood; you can overlook the workmen, and we can manage to keep house with Barbette, if you are not very difficult to please about the cooking."
"Oh! I would like it very much, M. Michou, and you will do me a great favor. But I must ask my father about it; will you see him, and get his consent?"
"To-morrow we will have it all arranged," replied Michou.