At last, on Sunday morning as they came out from Mass, his mother-in-law asked him what he had obtained from his sweetheart since their interview in the orchard1.
"Why, nothing at all," he replied. "I haven't spoken to her."
"How do you expect to persuade her, pray, if you don't speak to her?"
"I have never spoken to her but once," said Germain. "That was when we went to Fourche together; and since then I haven't said a single word to her. Her refusal hurt me so, that I prefer not to hear her tell me again that she doesn't love me."
"Well, my son, you must speak to her now; your father-in-law authorizes2 you to do it. Come, make up your mind! I tell you to do it, and, if necessary, I insist on it; for you can't remain in this state of doubt."
Germain obeyed. He went to Mère Guillette's, with downcast eyes and an air of profound depression. Little Marie was alone in the chimney-corner, musing3 so deeply that she did not hear Germain come in. When she saw him before her, she leaped from her chair in surprise and her face flushed.
"Little Marie," he said, sitting beside her, "I have pained you and wearied you, I know; but the man and the woman at our house"—so designating the heads of the family in accordance with custom—"want me to speak to you and ask you to marry me. You won't be willing to do it, I expect that."
"Germain," replied little Marie, "have you made up your mind that you love me?"
"That offends you, I know, but it isn't my fault; if you could change your mind, I should be too happy, and I suppose I don't deserve to have it so. Come, look at me, Marie, am I so very frightful4?"
"No, Germain," she replied, with a smile, "you're better looking than I am."
"Don't laugh at me; look at me indulgently; I haven't lost a hair or a tooth yet. My eyes tell you that I love you. Look into my eyes, it's written there, and every girl knows how to read that writing."
Marie looked into Germain's eyes with an air of playful assurance; then she suddenly turned her head away and began to tremble.
"Ah! mon Dieu! I frighten you," said Germain; "you look at me as if I were the farmer of Ormeaux. Don't be afraid of me, I beg of you, that hurts me too much. I won't say bad words to you, I won't kiss you against your will, and when you want me to go away, you have only to show me the door. Tell me, must I go out so that you can stop trembling?"
Mari............