Thereupon Huriel departed to find Joseph, and I went to bed; for if
up to that time I had concealed out of pride and forgotten out of
curiosity the ache in my bones, I was none the less bruised from head
to foot. Maître Huriel walked off gayly enough, apparently without
feeling anything, but as for me I was obliged to stay in bed for
nearly a week, spitting blood, with my stomach all upset. Joseph
came to see me and did not know what to make of it all; for I was shy
of telling him the truth, because it appeared that Huriel, in
speaking to him of me, hadn't mentioned how we came to an explanation.
Great was the amazement of the neighborhood over the injury done to
the wheat-fields of Aulnières, and the mule-tracks along the roads
were something to wonder at. When I gave my brother-in-law the money
I had earned with my sore bones I told him the whole story secretly,
and as he was a good, prudent fellow, no one got wind of it.
Joseph had left his bagpipe at Brulette's and could not make use of
it, partly because the haying left him no time, and also because
Brulette, fearing Carnat's spite, did her best to put him out of the
notion of playing.
Joseph pretended to give in; but we soon saw that he was concocting
some other plan and thinking to hire himself out in another parish,
where he could slip his collar and do as he pleased.
About midsummer he gave warning to his master to get another man in
his place; but it was impossible to get him to say where he was
going; and as he always replied, "I don't know," to any question he
didn't choose to answer, we began to think he would really let
himself be hired in the market-place, like the rest, without caring
where he went.
As the Christians' Fair, so-called, is one of the great festivals of
the town, Brulette went there to dance, and so did I. We thought we
should meet Joseph and find out before the end of the day what master
and what region he had chosen. But he did not appear either morning
or evening on the market-place. No one saw him in the town. He had
left his bagpipe, but he had carried off, the night before, all the
articles he usually left in Père Brulet's house.
That evening as we came home,--Brulette and I and all her train of
lovers with the other young folks of our parish,--she took my arm,
and walking on the grassy side of the road away from the others, she
said:--
"Do you know, Tiennet, that I am very anxious about José? His
mother, whom I saw just now in town, is full of trouble and can't
imagine where he has gone. A long time ago he told her he thought of
going away; but now she can't find out where, and the poor woman is
miserable."
"And you, Brulette," I said, "it seems to me that you are not very
gay, and you haven't danced with the same spirit as usual."
"That's true," she answered; "I have a great regard for the poor
lunatic fellow,--partly because I ought to have it, on account of his
mother, and then for old acquaintance' sake, and also because I care
for his fluting."
"Fluting! does it really have such an effect upon you?"
"There's nothing wrong in its effect, cousin. Why do you find fault
with it?"
"I don't; but--"
"Come, say what you mean," she exclaimed, laughing; "for you are
always chanting some sort of dirge about it, and I want to say amen
to you once for all, so that I may hear the last of it."
"Well then, Brulette," I replied, "we won't say another word about
Joseph, but let us talk of ourselves. Why won't you see that I have
a great love for you? and can't you tell me that you will return it
one of these days?"
"Oh! oh! are you talking seriously, this time?"
"This time and all times. It has always been serious on my part,
even when shyness made me pretend to joke about it."
"Then," said Brulette, quickening her step with me that the others
might not overhear us, "tell me how and why you love me; I'll answer
you afterwards."
I saw she wanted compliments and flattery, but my tongue was not very
ready at that kind of thing. I did my best, however, and told her
that ever since I came into the world I had never thought of any one
but her; for she was the prettiest and sweetest of girls, and had
captivated me even before she was twelve years old.
I told nothing that she did not know already; indeed she said so, and
owned she had seen it at the time we were catechised. But she added
laughing:--
"Now explain why you have not died of grief, for I have always put
you down; and tell me also why you are such a fine-grown, healthy
fellow, if love, as you declare, has withered you."
"That's not talking seriously, as you promised me," I said.
"Yes, it is," she replied; "I am serious, for I shall never choose
any one who can't swear that he has never in his life fancied, or
loved, or desired any girl but me."
"Then it is all right, Brulette," I cried. "If that's so, I fear
nobody, not even that José of yours, who, I will allow, never looked
at a girl in his life, for his eyes can't even see you, or he
wouldn't go away and leave you."
"Don't talk of Joseph; we agreed to let him alone," replied Brulette,
rather sharply, "and as you boast of such very keen eyes, please
confess that in spite of your love for me you have ogled more than
one pretty girl. Now, don't tell fibs, for I hate lying. What were
you saying so gayly to Sylvia only last year? And it isn't more than
a couple of months since you danced two Sundays running, under my
very nose, with that big Bonnina. Do you think I am blind, and that
nobody comes and tells me things?"
I was rather mortified at first; but then, encouraged by the thought
that there was a spice of jealousy in Brulette, I answered, frankly,--
"What I was saying to such girls, cousin, is not proper to repeat to
a person I respect. A fellow may play the fool sometimes to amuse
himself, and the regret he feels for it afterwards only proves that
his heart and soul had nothing to do with it."