Old Victor could hardly contain himself.  He went back and forth between the dining-room and kitchen far oftener than was necessary, that he might have the pleasure of saying to Jeanne:  “It works! it works!  He doth gaze the eyes out of his head at her.  The girl could not do better.  She hath affected the very thing which will snare him the quickest.”

“Oh no, father!  Thou mistakest Victorine.  She hath no plan of snaring him; it was with much ado I got her to consent to serve him at all.  It was but for my sake she did it.”

Victor stared at Jeanne when she said this.  “Thou hast not told her, then?” he said.

“Nay, that would have spoiled all; if the girl herself had it in her head, he would have seen it.”

Victor walked slowly back into the dining-room, and took further and closer observations of Mademoiselle Victorine’s behavior and expressions.  When he went next to the kitchen he clapped Jeanne on the shoulder, and said with a laugh:  “’Tis a wise mother knows her own child.  If that girl in yonder be not bent on turning the head of Willan Blaycke before she sleeps to-night, may the devil fly away with me!”

“Well, likely he may, if thou prove not too heavy a load,” retorted the filial Jeanne.  “I tell thee the girl’s heart is full of anger against Willan Blaycke.  She is but doing my bidding.  I charged her to see to it that he was pleased, that he should go away our friend.”

“And so he will go,” replied Victor, dryly; “but not for thy bidding or mine.  The man is that far pleased already that he shifteth as if the very chair were hot beneath him.  A most dutiful niece thou hast, Mistress Jeanne!”

When supper was over Willan Blaycke walked hastily out of the house.  He wanted to be alone.  The clouds had broken away, and the full moon shone out gloriously.  The great pear-tree looked like a tree wrapped in cloud, its blossoms were so thick and white.  Willan paced back and forth beneath it, where he had lain sleeping before supper.  He looked toward the window from whence he had heard the singing voice.  “It must have been she,” he said.  “How shall I bring it to pass to see her again? for that I will and must.”  He went to the window and looked in.  All was dark.  As he turned away the door at the farther end opened, and a ray of light flashing in from the hall beyond showed Victorine bearing in her hand the jug of cider.  She had made this excuse to go to the storeroom again, having observed that Willan had left the house.

“He might seek me again there,” thought she.

Willan heard the sound, turned back, and bounding to the window exclaimed, “Was it thou who sang?”

Victorine affected not to hear.  Setting down her jug, she came close to the window and said respectfully:  “Didst thou call?  What can I fetch, sir?”

Willan Blaycke leaned both his arms on the window-sill, and looking into the eyes of Victorine Dubois replied:  “Marry, girl, thou hast already fetched me to such a pass that thy voice rings in my ears.  I asked thee if it were thou who sang?”