“Mademoiselle,” said Genestas, “it is a great pity that you live here all by yourself; you ought to have a mate in such a charming cage as this.”

“That is true,” she said, “but what would you have?  I am poor, and I am hard to please.  I feel that it would not suit me at all to carry the soup out into the fields, nor to push a hand-cart; to feel the misery of those whom I should love, and have no power to put an end to it; to carry my children in my arms all day, and patch and re-patch a man’s rags.  The cure tells me that such thoughts as these are not very Christian; I know that myself, but how can I help it?  There are days when I would rather eat a morsel of dry bread than cook anything for my dinner.  Why would you have me worry some man’s life out with my failings?  He would perhaps work himself to death to satisfy my whims, and that would not be right.  Pshaw! an unlucky lot has fallen to me, and I ought to bear it by myself.”

“And besides, she is a born do-nothing,” said Benassis.  “We must take my poor Fosseuse as we find her.  But all that she has been saying to you simply means that she has never loved as yet,” he added, smiling.  Then he rose and went out on to the lawn for a moment.

“You must be very fond of M. Benassis?” asked Genestas.

“Oh! yes, sir; and there are plenty of people hereabouts who feel as I do—­that they would be glad to do anything in the world for him.  And yet he who cures other people has some trouble of his own that nothing can cure.  You are his friend, perhaps you know what it is?  Who could have given pain to such a man, who is the very image of God on earth?  I know a great many who think that the corn grows faster if he has passed by their field in the morning.”

“And what do you think yourself?”

“I, sir?  When I have seen him,” she seemed to hesitate, then she went on, “I am happy all the rest of the day.”

She bent her head over her work, and plied her needle with unwonted swiftness.

“Well, has the captain been telling you something about Napoleon?” said the doctor, as he came in again.

“Have you seen the Emperor, sir?” cried La Fosseuse, gazing at the officer’s face with eager curiosity.

“Parbleu!” said Genestas, “hundreds of times!”

“Oh! how I should like to know something about the army!”

“Perhaps we will come to take a cup of coffee with you to-morrow, and you shall hear ‘something about the army,’ dear child,” said Benassis, who laid his hand on her shoulder and kissed her brow.  “She is my daughter, you see!” he added, turning to the commandant; “there is something wanting in the day, somehow, when I have not kissed her forehead.”

La Fosseuse held Benassis’ hand in a tight clasp as she murmured, “Oh! you are very kind!”

They left the house; but she came after them to see them mount.  She waited till Genestas was in the saddle, and then whispered in Benassis’ ear, “Tell me who that gentleman is?”