Say?"

Margot coloured and then grew pale. True, Bernadou had never really
spoken to her, but still, when one is seventeen, and has danced a few
times with the same person, and has plucked the leaves of a daisy away
to learn one's fortune, spoken words are not very much wanted.

At sight of her the eyes of the old woman moistened and grew dimmer than
age had made them; she smiled still, but the smile had the sweetness of
a blessing in it, and no longer the kindly banter of humour. "You love
him, my little one?" she said, in a soft, hushed voice.

"Ah, madame!" Margot could not say more. She covered her face with her
hands, and turned to the wall, and wept with a passion of joy.

Down in the Berceau there were gossips who would have said, with wise
shakes of their heads, "Tut, tut! how easy it is to make believe in a
little love when one is a serving-maid, and has not a sou, nor a roof,
nor a friend in the world, and a comely youth well-to-do is willing to
marry us!"

But Reine Allix knew better. She had not lived ninety years in the world
not to be able to discern between true feeling and counterfeit. She
was touched, and drew the trembling frame of Margot into her arms, and
kissed her twice on the closed, blue-veined lids of her black eyes.
"Make him happy, only make him happy," she murmured; "for I am very old,
Margot, and he is alone, all alone."

And the child crept to her, sobbing for very rapture that she,
friendless, homeless, and penniless, should be thus elected for so fair
a fate, and whispered through her tears, "I will."

Reine Allix spoke in all form to the miller and his wife, and with as
much earnestness in her demand as though she had been seeking the hand
of rich Yacobe, the tavern-keeper's only daughter. The people assented;
they had no pretext to oppose; and Reine Allix wrapped her cloak about
her and descended the hill and the street just as the twilight closed
in and the little lights began to glimmer through the lattices and the
shutters and the green mantle of the boughs, while the red fires of the
smithy forge glowed brightly in the gloom, and a white horse waited to
be shod, a boy in a blue blouse seated on its back and switching away
with a branch of budding hazel the first gray gnats of the early year.

"It is well done, it is well done," she said to herself, looking at the
low rosy clouds and the pale gold of the waning sky. "A year or two, and
I shall be in my grave. I shall leave h