"Oh! it is very wrong, very wrong!" said Jeannette, much excited. "You were right—I can no longer call him brother."
"I hope not; it would be affection very badly bestowed, and which would make you the laughing-stock of the village. Are you still angry with me, my dear Jeanne?"
"Pardon me," said she, extending her hand; "you see, I have had good reason for sorrow."
And then she burst into tears, no longer able to restrain them, but without exactly knowing the cause of so real a pain.
Isidore did not expect to succeed so well. This time he had not lied; he really believed Jeannet would be married, as that giddy-brained Pierre had announced the fact to him. And yet he did not like to see Jeanne weep for such a little thing. It made him think that the affection of these two children, who had lived together as brother and sister for so many years, was much stronger than he had believed, and he was more determined than ever to put a stop to it after he was married, and even before, if he could.
He left Muiceron very much dissatisfied. Jeannette was sad; she let him go off without scarcely noticing him. When she was alone, the wish to seek some consolation led her to go after her mother, to see if she had heard the news, and to talk with her about it.
But, behold! just as she left the room she ran against some one, and who should it be but Jean-Louis, who had come after some changes of clothes to carry off to the wood, and who, knowing that she was with her intended, did not wish to disturb her.
At the sight of her brother all the readiness of her character came back and took the place of her vexation. She assumed an air so haughty that Jeannet, all ready to embrace her, stepped back, dumb with astonishment.
"You there?" said Jeannette, with a frown on her brow.
"You there? Why do you speak so to me?" asked he, astonished.