On her side Claire inquired what number of people there would be at table and how she had better place them.  Then, Gervais having called to Frederic to bring a scythe, the three of them went on discussing the arrangements.  After Rose’s death, Frederic, her betrothed, had continued working beside Gervais, becoming his most active and intelligent comrade and helper.  For some months, too, Marianne and Mathieu had noticed that he was revolving around Claire, as though, since he had lost the elder girl, he were willing to content himself with the younger one, who was far less beautiful no doubt, but withal a good and sturdy housewife.  This had at first saddened the parents.  Was it possible to forget their dear daughter?  Then, however, they felt moved, for the thought came to them that the family ties would be drawn yet closer, that the young fellow’s heart would not roam in search of love elsewhere, but would remain with them.  So closing their eyes to what went on, they smiled, for in Frederic, when Claire should be old enough to marry, Gervais would find the brother-in-law and partner that he needed.

The question of the table had just been settled when a sudden invasion burst through the tall grass around the oak tree; skirts flew about, and loose hair waved in the sunshine.

“Oh!” cried Louise, “there are no roses.”

“No,” repeated Madeleine, “not a single white rose.”

“And,” added Marguerite, “we have inspected all the bushes.  There are no white roses, only red ones.”

Thirteen, eleven, and nine, such were their respective ages.  Louise, plump and gay, already looked a little woman; Madeleine, slim and pretty, spent hours at her piano, her eyes full of dreaminess; Marguerite, whose nose was rather too large and whose lips were thick, had beautiful golden hair.  She would pick up little birds at winter time and warm them with her hands.  And the three of, them, after scouring the back garden, where flowers mingled with vegetables, had now rushed up in despair at their vain search.  No white roses for a wedding!  That was the end of everything!  What could they offer to the bride?  And what could they set upon the table?

Behind the three girls, however, appeared Gregoire, with jeering mien, and his hands in his pockets.  At fifteen he was very malicious, the most turbulent, worrying member of the family, a lad inclined to the most diabolical devices.  His pointed nose and his thin lips denoted also his adventurous spirit, his will power, and his skill in effecting his object.  And, apparently much amused by his sisters’ disappointment, he forgot himself and exclaimed, by way of teasing them:  “Why, I know where there are some white roses, and fine ones, too.”

“Where is that?” asked Mathieu.

“Why, at the mill, near the wheel, in the little enclosure.  There are three big bushes which are quite white, with roses as big as cabbages.”

Then he flushed and became confused, for his father was eyeing him severely.