Franchita, however, was astonished by the unexplained attitude of her son, who, apparently¹, never saw Gracieuse and yet never talked of her. Then, while was amassing² in her the sadness of his coming departure for military service, she observed him, with her peasant's patience and muteness.
 
One evening, one of the last evenings, as he was going away, mysterious and in haste, long before the hour of the nocturnal contraband³, she straightened before him, her eyes fixed⁴ on his:
 
“Where are you going, my son?”
 
And seeing him turn his head, blushing and embarrassed, she acquired a sudden certainty:
 
“It is well, now I know.—Oh! I know!—”
 
She was moved even more than he, at her discovery of this great secret.—The idea had not even come to her that it was not Gracieuse, that it might be another girl. She was too far-seeing. And her scruples⁵ as a Christian⁶ were awakened⁷, her conscience was frightened at the evil that they might have done, as rose from the depth of her heart a sentiment of which she was ashamed as if it were a crime, a sort of savage

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