do the
same? Pierre Lachance will swear to you twice every hour that the
fishing is a dog's life."

She shook her head.

"It is different," she said. "You are not Pierre Lachance, Jean, and I
want you to be happy all your life--that is what I ask the _bon Dieu_
for always in my prayers. And I do not know why these thoughts come,
and I do not understand them, only I know that they are there."

"Then--_voila_! We will drive them away, and they must never come
back!" Jean burst out, half gaily, half gravely. "See, now,
Marie-Louise"--he caught her hand in both of his, putting aside the
lump of clay again--"it is true that sometimes I am like that, and I do
not understand either; but one must take things as they are, is that
not so?"

She nodded--a little doubtfully.

"Well, then," cried Jean, "why should I not be happy here? Have I not
you, and is that not most of all? And as for the rest, do I not do
well with the fishing? Is there any who does better? Do they not
speak of the luck of Jean Laparde? _'Cre nom_! Different from the
others! Who is a fisherman if it is not I, who have been a fisherman
all my life? And of what good is it to wish for anything else? What
else, even if I wanted to, could I do? I do not know anything else but
the boats and the nets. Is it not so, Marie-Louise?"

"Y-yes," she said, and her eyes lifted to meet his.

"And happy!" he went on. "Ah, Marie-Louise, with those bright eyes of
yours that belong all to me, who could be anything but happy? _Tiens_!
You are to be my little wife, and Bernay-sur-Mer and the blue water is
to be our home, and we will fish together, and you shall sing all day
in the boat, and--well, what more is there to ask for?"

"Oh, Jean!"--she was smiling now.

"There, you see!" said Jean, and burst out laughing. "Marie-Louise is
herself again, and--_pouf_!--the blue devils are blown away. And now
wait until I have finished this, and I will show you something"--he
picked up the clay once more. "Only you must not look until it is
done."

"Mustn't I? Oh!"--with a little _moue_ of resignation. "Well, then,
hurry, Jean," she commanded, and cupped her chin in her hands again,
her elbows propped upon the ground.

It was playfully that Jean turned his back upon her, hiding his work,
but as his fingers began again to draw and model the clay and his knife
to chisel it, the smile went slowly from his face and his lips grew
firmly closed. It was stran