eetheart to a room, so that she might take off her dress,
to avoid staining it, as she was going to prepare a nice dish, intended
to win the old people's affections through their stomachs. He drew his
parents outside the house, and, with beating heart, asked:

"Well, what do you say now?"

The father said nothing. The mother, less timid, exclaimed:

"She is too black. No, indeed, this is too much for me. It turns my
blood."

"You will get used to it," said Antoine.

"Perhaps so, but not at first."

They went into the house, where the good woman was somewhat affected at
the spectacle of the negress engaged in cooking. She at once proceeded to
assist her, with petticoats tucked up, active in spite of her age.

The meal was an excellent one, very long, very enjoyable. When they were
taking a turn after dinner, Antoine took his father aside.

"Well, dad, what do you say about it?"

The peasant took care never to compromise himself.

"I have no opinion about it. Ask your mother."

So Antoine went back to his mother, and, detaining her behind the rest,
said:

"Well, mother, what do you think of her?"

"My poor lad, she is really too black. If she were only a little less
black, I would not go against you, but this is too much. One would think
it was Satan!"

He did not press her, knowing how obstinate the old woman had always
been, but he felt a tempest of disappointment sweeping over his heart. He
was turning over in his mind what he ought to do, what plan he could
devise, surprised, moreover, that she had not conquered them already as
she had captivated himself. And they, all four, walked along through the
wheat fields, having gradually relapsed into silence. Whenever they
passed a fence they saw a countryman sitting on the stile, and a group of
brats climbed up to stare at them, and every one rushed out into the road
to see the "black" whore young Boitelle had brought home with him. At a
distance they noticed people scampering across the fields just as when
the drum beats to draw public attention to some living phenomenon. Pere
and Mere Boitelle, alarmed at this curiosity, which was exhibited
everywhere through the country at their approach, quickened their pace,
walking side by side, and leaving their son far behind. His dark
companion asked what his parents thought of her.

He hesitatingly replied that they had not yet made up their minds.

But on the village green people rushed out of all the houses in