“Why, good-morning, Claudet,” said she, “you come just in time.  A quarter of an hour later you would not have found me.  Will you come in and rest a moment?”

“Thanks, Reine,” said he, “I will not hinder you in your work.  But I wanted to say, I am sorry I got angry the other day; you were right, we must not leave each other with ill-feeling, and, as I am going away for a long time, I desire first to take your hand in friendship.”

“You are going away?”

“Yes; I am going now to Langres to enroll myself as a soldier.  And true it is, one knows when one goes away, but it is hard to know when one will come back.  That is why I wanted to say good-by to you, and make peace, so as not to go away with too great a load on my heart.”

All Reine’s coldness melted away.  This young fellow, who was leaving his country on her account, was the companion of her infancy, more than that, her nearest relative.  Her throat swelled, her eyes filled with tears.  She turned away her head, that he might not perceive her emotion, and opened the kitchen-door.

“Come in, Claudet,” said she, “we shall be more comfortable in the dining-room.  We can talk there, and you will have some refreshment before you go, will you not?”

He obeyed, and followed her into the house.  She went herself into the cellar, to seek a bottle of old wine, brought two glasses, and filled them with a trembling hand.

“Shall you remain long in the service?” asked she.

“I shall engage for seven years.”

“It is a hard life that you are choosing.”

“What am I to do?” replied he, “I could not stay here doing nothing.”

Reine went in and out of the room in a bewildered fashion.  Claudet, too much excited to perceive that the young girl’s impassiveness was only on the surface, said to himself:  “It is all over; she accepts my departure as an event perfectly natural; she treats me as she would Theotime, the coal-dealer, or the tax-collector Boucheseiche.  A glass of wine, two or three unimportant questions, and then, good-by-a pleasant journey, and take care of yourself!”

Then he made a show of taking an airy, insouciant tone.

“Oh, well!” he exclaimed, “I’ve always been drawn toward that kind of life.  A musket will be a little heavier than a gun, that’s all; then I shall see different countries, and that will change my ideas.”  He tried to appear facetious, poking around the kitchen, and teasing the magpie, which was following his footsteps with inquisitive anxiety.  Finally, he went up to the old man Vincart, who was lying stretched out in his picture-lined niche.  He took the flabby hand of the paralytic old man, pressed it gently and endeavored to get up a little conversation with him, but he had it all to himself, the invalid staring at him all the time with uneasy, wide-open eyes.  Returning to Reine, he lifted his glass.

“To your health, Reine!” said he, with forced gayety, “next time we clink glasses together, I shall be an experienced soldier—­you’ll see!”