that she was
neither unkind, nor kind, and that I should leave her without any
regret.

Then we heard the sound of M. Alphonse's cart-wheels, and I got up to
go. He stood aside a little to let me pass him, and I left him alone
in the shrubbery.

That evening I took advantage of the unusually good humour of Adele to
ask her if she knew any of the ploughmen at the Lost Ford. She said
she only knew some of the old ones, for since Madame Deslois had been a
widow the new ones never stayed with her. A sort of fear which I could
not have explained kept me from mentioning the young man in the white
smock, and Adele added with a wag of her chin: "Fortunately her eldest
son has come back from Paris. The farm hands will be happier."

Next day, while Madame Alphonse was working at her lace, I sewed and
thought about the ploughman in the white smock. I could not in my mind
help comparing him to Eugene. He spoke like Eugene did, and they
seemed like one another somehow.

That evening I thought I saw him near the stables, and a moment later
he came into the linen-room. His eyes just glanced at me and then he
looked straight at Madame Alphonse. He held his head high and the left
side of his mouth drooped a little. Madame Alphonse said, in a happy
voice, when she saw him, "Why, there's Henri!" and she let him kiss her
on both cheeks, and told him to bring a chair up next to her. But he
sat sideways on the table, pushing the linen to one side. Adele came
into the room, and Madame Alphonse said, "If you see my husband, tell
him that my brother is here."

It was some minutes before I understood. Then I realized suddenly that
the young man in the white smock was Madame Deslois's eldest son. A
sense of shame which I had never felt before made me blush fiercely,
and I was ever so sorry that I had spoken about Sister Marie-Aimee. I
felt that I had thrown the thing that I loved best to the winds, and do
what I could, I could not keep back two big tears which tickled the
corners of my mouth and then fell on the linen napkin I was hemming.
Henri Deslois remained sitting on the corner of the table for a long
time. I could feel that he was looking at me, and his eyes were like a
heavy weight which prevented me from lifting up my head.

Two days afterwards I found him in the shrubbery. When I saw him
sitting there my legs felt weak under me, and I stood still. He got up
at once so that I should sit down; but I remained