"Why do you quarrel with me, Marie?
All the neighbours will think you do not
love me, when they see you treat me in
this manner."

And Marie answered, all the hot blood
flushing to her face and brow:

"Why should I love you? You are
nothing to me. And I think you might
treat me as you do other girls, now that I
am grown up and old enough to be married."

La Petite turned away, and did not wait to
hear what Gaston had to say. But, indeed,
he only stood looking after her for a few
minutes, and then he walked slowly away,
and danced with Léontine, the black-eyed
bright belle of the village.

La Petite was sorry, for Gaston did not
forget her sharp speech all the summer; and
although he was as kind and thoughtful as
ever in saving her the laborious work which
most peasant women have to do, yet everything,
even her household duties, seemed
harder when Gaston was not near.

And so the time passed on, and October
came, and the maize was gathered in. This
is always a time of rejoicing, for maize is the
staple food of these peasants; and, as on that
year there was a very full harvest, Marie's
parents had to fix three nights for the
neighbours to come in and help them rub the
grains out of the ears. Of course they
would also dance and sing, and eat roasted
chestnuts; and what with this, and the
work to be done, they would be up nearly
all night.

Léontine was to be there—Léontine whom
Gaston had danced with on the Place, and
visited nearly every Sunday since. When La
Petite heard this, she resolved that she would
not go into the room except to carry round
the large basket of chestnuts from time to
time, and therefore she asked her mother to
let her turn and roast and prepare them. It
was very dreary to be all alone, and listen to
the singing and dancing and laughing; yet
not so bad as to see Gaston sitting there
beside Léontine, and her great black eyes
flashing on him.

Once there was a loud shout, and Marie
knew that the pickers had found an ear with
crimson grains, and that they would make a
circle, standing hand in hand, and all the
men would kiss the girls. She knew Gaston
would kiss Léontine; and she listened for his
voice, standing on tip-toe that she might
hear the better.

Just then she saw him watching her from
the door, and she flushed up and spoke
angrily, and Gaston turntd and went away.

On the third night the poor little heart
was almost broken, for Gaston seemed angrier
than ever. The small face looked so wan
and thin, and the dark eyes had such large
black circles round them, that the good-
natured Léontine was quite grieved, and
insisted on giving up the pleasure of the party
to help Marie in the kitchen; but La Petite
drove her out indignantly, fearing lest Gaston
should follow.

Once, as she was carrying in her basket of
hot chestnuts, there was a shout for another
crimson ear that had been found. She
paused, and found herself standing close by
her father and Gaston. Her father said,
"Thou art pale and weary, ma petite, Gaston
shall give thee a kiss, and carry thy basket
round for thee." And then turning to
Gaston, who seemed not very ready to comply
with this command, he continued: "It
seems to me that thou art angry with the
child, mon brave. Now that is not well
done; thou shouldst remember that, if she
is flighty and strange to thee sometimes, as I
have seen her of late, she is but a young
girl; and she is a good child to her father
and mother; we have never heard an undutiful
word from her. Kiss, therefore, and be
friends."

Gaston took the basket from the trembling
girl, and put his arms round her. He
scarcely touched her cold cheek with his lips,
but the pain of it went through her heart, so
sharp, that for a moment she stood quite
still, and then she turned and went back to
the kitchen, and sat with her apron thrown
over her face. She heard footsteps, and
knew who was coming, but she could not
get away.

Gaston stood beside her, but for some time
she could not tell what he was saying, for at
the first sound of his voice she began to cry.
At last it seemed as if some voice kept saying,
over and over again, that Gaston loved her,
and was going far away because she did not
love him, and because his petite Marie would
not be his wife.

It was like the sudden clamour of church
bells to one who stands beside a church
tower, overwhelming, almost stupefying, and
she sat with clasped hands, and the tears
streaming down her face.

"Shake hands, ma petite, let us part
friends; let me see thy sweet face once
more."

But Marie was motionless; so he took her
hand and drew away the apron. What was
it in the large tearful eyes fixed on him that
made him start and sit down by her side, and
clasp her in his arms, and—yes, finish my
story? For, at this point, Marie stooped
and took up the boy from his basket, drew
him tenderly forth from under the scarlet
umbrella—the boy all flushed, rosy, and
warm from his slumber. She kissed the
little neck and arms, and bent over him,
saying:

"He is like Gaston, he is like his father,
is he not ?"