“Germain,” replied little Marie, “have you made up your mind that you love me?”

“That offends you, I know, but it isn’t my fault; if you could change your mind, I should be too happy, and I suppose I don’t deserve to have it so.  Come, look at me, Marie, am I so very frightful?”

“No, Germain,” she replied, with a smile, “you’re better looking than I am.”

“Don’t laugh at me; look at me indulgently; I haven’t lost a hair or a tooth yet.  My eyes tell you that I love you.  Look into my eyes, it’s written there, and every girl knows how to read that writing.”

Marie looked into Germain’s eyes with an air of playful assurance; then she suddenly turned her head away and began to tremble.

“Ah! mon Dieu! I frighten you,” said Germain; “you look at me as if I were the farmer of Ormeaux.  Don’t be afraid of me, I beg of you, that hurts me too much.  I won’t say bad words to you, I won’t kiss you against your will, and when you want me to go away, you have only to show me the door.  Tell me, must I go out so that you can stop trembling?”

Marie held out her hand to the ploughman, but without turning her head, which was bent toward the fire-place, and without speaking.

“I understand,” said Germain; “you pity me, for you are kind-hearted; you are sorry to make me unhappy; but still you can’t love me, can you?”

“Why do you say such things to me, Germain?” little Marie replied at last, “do you want to make me cry?”

“Poor little girl, you have a kind heart, I know; but you don’t love me, and you hide your face from me because you’re afraid to let me see your displeasure and your repugnance.  And for my part, I don’t dare do so much as press your hand!  In the woods, when my son was asleep, and you were asleep too, I came near kissing you softly.  But I should have died of shame rather than ask you for a kiss, and I suffered as much that night as a man roasting over a slow fire.  Since then, I’ve dreamed of you every night.  Ah! how I have kissed you, Marie!  But you slept without dreaming all the time.  And now do you know what I think? that if you should turn and look at me with such eyes as I have for you, and if you should put your face to mine, I believe I should fall dead with joy.  And as for you, you are thinking that if such a thing should happen to you, you would die of anger and shame!”

Germain talked as if he were dreaming, and did not know what he said.  Little Marie was still trembling; but as he was trembling even more than she, he did not notice it.  Suddenly she turned; she was all in tears, and looked at him with a reproachful expression.

The poor ploughman thought that that was the last stroke, and rose to go, without awaiting his sentence, but the girl detained him by throwing her arms about him, and hid her face against his breast.

“Ah!  Germain,” she said, sobbing, “haven’t you guessed that I love you?”