The three suitors were sitting at a table laden with food and wine, which were kept there for them through the whole of Sunday morning; for Pere Leonard loved to exhibit his opulence, nor was the widow sorry to display her fine plate and to keep open house like a woman of means.  Germain, simple and trustful as he was, did not lack penetration in his observation of things, and for the first time in his life he stood on the defensive while drinking.  Pere Leonard had compelled him to take a seat with his rivals, and, seating himself opposite him, he treated him as handsomely as possible, and devoted himself to him with evident partiality.  The gift of game, despite the breach Germain had made in it on his own account, was still considerable enough to produce an effect.  The widow seemed to appreciate it, and the suitors eyed it disdainfully.

Germain felt ill at ease in that company, and did not eat with any heartiness.  Pere Leonard rallied him about it.—­“You seem very down in the mouth,” he said, “and you’re sulking with your glass.  You mustn’t let love spoil your appetite, for a fasting lover can’t find so many pretty things to say as the man who has sharpened up his wits with a mouthful of wine.”

Germain was mortified that it should be assumed that he was in love; and the affected demeanor of the widow, who lowered her eyes with a smile, like one who is sure of her game, made him long to protest against his alleged surrender; but he feared to seem discourteous, so he smiled and took patience.

The widow’s lovers seemed to him like three rustic clowns.  They must have been rich, or she would not have listened to their suits.  One of them was more than forty, and was about as stout as Pere Leonard; another had but one eye, and drank so much that it made him stupid; the third was young and not a bad-looking fellow; but he attempted to be witty, and said such insane things that one could but pity him.  But the widow laughed as if she admired all his idiotic remarks, and therein she gave no proof of good taste.  Germain thought at first that she was in love with the young man; but he soon perceived that he was himself the recipient of marked encouragement, and that she wished him to yield more readily to her charms.  That was to him a reason for feeling and appearing even colder and more solemn.

The hour of Mass arrived, and they left the table to attend in a body.  They had to go to Mers, a good half-league away, and Germain was so tired that he would have been glad of an opportunity to take a nap first:  but he was not in the habit of being absent from Mass, and he started with the others.

The roads were filled with people, and the widow walked proudly along, escorted by her three suitors, taking the arm of one, then of another, bridling up and carrying her head high.  She would have been very glad to exhibit the fourth to the passers-by; but it seemed so ridiculous to be paraded thus in company by a petticoat, in everybody’s sight, that he kept at a respectful distance, talking with Pere Leonard and finding a way to divert his thoughts and occupy his mind so that they did not seem to belong to the party.