Disregardful of custom, I was stooping to speak to her, when Aunt Jeanne dragged me away with a gratified laugh, and a quick “Nenni, nenni!  She may not speak till the time comes, or dear knows what will happen to us!  Come away, mon gars, and tell me where you have been and what you have been doing,” and she sat me down in a corner at the far end of the big dresser, and herself beside me so that I should not get away, and made me talk, but I could not take my eyes fora moment off the slim white figure on the radiant bed of roses.

A most delightful place at all times was that great kitchen at Beaumanoir, with its huge fireplace like a smaller room opening off the larger, and put to many other uses besides simply that of cooking;—­its black oak presses and dressers and shelves all aglow with much polishing, and bright with crockery and pewter; its great hanging rack under the ceiling, laden with hams and sides of bacon and a hundred and one odds and ends of household use; and the great table in the corner weighted now with piles of currant-cake—­Aunt Jeanne’s gache had a name in Sercq—­and more substantial faring still.

There were about a score of young men and girls there, with a sprinkling of older folk, and every minute brought fresh arrivals to add to the talk and laughter.  Each new-comer on entering paid homage to the silent figure on the green bed, and gave me boisterous welcome home as they came to receive a word of greeting from the mistress of the house.

Everyone knew everyone else most intimately.  Scarce one but was related to half the people in the room.  And all were in the gayest of spirits, for there, in a far corner, old Nicholas Grut every now and again gave the strings of his fiddle an impatient twang, as an intimation that all this was sheer waste of time, and that the only proper business in life was dancing.  And presently they would begin, and they would dance until the sun rose, and then—­well, the new day had its own rites and ceremonies, and eyes were bright and pulses leaping, and hearts were all a-flutter with hopes and fears of what the day might bring.

“And who is this, Jeanne Falla?” I asked, as one came in whom I had never seen before—­a young man, dark and well-looking, and very handsomely dressed compared with the rest of us.  And he stood so long before the green-bed, gazing at Carette, that there sprang up in me a sudden desire to take him by the neck and drag him away, or, better still, to hurl him through the open door into outer darkness.

“Tiens!” said Aunt Jeanne softly, “it is the young Torode—­”

“Torode?  I do not know him.  Who is he?”

“C’est ca.  It is since you left.  His father has settled himself on Herm.  He is a great man in these parts nowadays.  They do say—­”

“They do say—?” I asked, as she stopped short.

“Bon dou!  They say many strange things about M. Torode.  But you know how folks talk,” she murmured.