morrow to her without making any pother
about it."

Thereupon Mere Boitelle, herself nearly frightened out of her wits,
made a sort of curtsey, while the father took off his cap, murmuring:

"I wish you good-luck!"

Then, without further delay, they climbed up on the car, the two women
at the lower end on seats, which made them jump up and down, as the
vehicle went jolting along the road, and the two men outside on the
front seat.

Nobody spoke. Antoine, ill at ease, whistled a barrack-room air; his
father lashed the nag; and his mother, from where she sat in the
corner, kept casting sly glances at the negress, whose forehead and
cheek-bones shone in the sunlight, like well-blacked shoes.

Wishing to break the ice, Antoine turned round.

"Well," said he, "we don't seem inclined to talk."

"We must get time," replied the old woman.

He went on:

"Come! tell us the little story about that hen of yours that laid
eight eggs."

It was a funny anecdote of long standing in the family. But, as his
mother still remained silent, paralyzed by emotion, he started the
talking himself, and narrated, with much laughter on his own part,
this memorable adventure. The father, who knew it by heart, brightened
at the opening words of the narrative; his wife soon followed his
example; and the negress herself, when he reached the drollest part of
it, suddenly gave vent to a laugh so noisy, rolling, and torrent-like
that the horse, becoming excited, broke into a gallop for a little
while.

This served as the introduction to their acquaintanceship. The company
at length began to chat.

On reaching the house when they had all alighted, and he had conducted
his sweetheart to a room, so that she might take off her dress, to
avoid staining it, while she would be preparing a good dish intended
to win the old people's affections while appealing to their stomachs,
he drew aside his parents, near the door, 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."

"That may be, but it is only for the moment."

Then they made their way into the interior of 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 l