The young girl remained motionless, and for a moment de Buxieres thought she would be able to bear, with some degree of composure, this announcement of the death in a foreign country of a man whom she had refused as a husband.  Suddenly she turned aside, took two or three steps, then leaning her head and folded arms on the trunk of an adjacent tree, she burst into a passion of tears.  The convulsive movement of her shoulders and stifled sobs denoted the violence of her emotion.  M. de Buxieres, alarmed at this outbreak, which he thought exaggerated, felt a return of his old misgivings.  He was jealous now of the dead man whom she was so openly lamenting.  Her continued weeping annoyed him; he tried to arrest her tears by addressing some consolatory remarks to her; but, at the very first word, she turned away, mounted precipitately the kitchen-stairs, and disappeared, closing the door behind her.  Some minutes after, La Guite brought a message to de Buxieres that Reine wished to be alone, and begged him to excuse her.

He took his departure, disconcerted, downhearted, and ready to weep himself, over the crumbling of his hopes.  As he was nearing the first outlying houses of the village, he came across the Abbe Pernot, who was striding along at a great rate, toward the chateau.

“Ah!” exclaimed the priest, “how are you, Monsieur de Buxieres, I was just going over to see you.  Is it true that you have received bad news?”

Julien nodded his head affirmatively, and informed the cure of the sad notice he had received.  The Abbe’s countenance lengthened, his mouth took on a saddened expression, and during the next few minutes he maintained an attitude of condolence.

“Poor fellow!” he sighed, with a slight nasal intonation, “he did not have a fair chance!  To have to leave us at twenty-six years of age, and in full health, it is very hard.  And such a jolly companion; such a clever shot!”

Finally, not being naturally of a melancholy turn of mind, nor able to remain long in a mournful mood, he consoled himself with one of the pious commonplaces which he was in the habit of using for the benefit of others:  “The Lord is just in all His dealings, and holy in all His works; He reckons the hairs of our heads, and our destinies are in His hands.  We shall celebrate a fine high mass for the repose of Claudet’s soul.”

He coughed, and raised his eyes toward Julien.

“I wished,” continued he, “to see you for two reasons, Monsieur de Buxieres:  first of all, to hear about Claudet, and secondly, to speak to you on a matter—­a very delicate matter—­which concerns you, but which also affects the safety of another person and the dignity of the parish.”

Julien was gazing at him with a bewildered air.  The cure pushed open the little park gate, and passing through, added: 

“Let us go into your place; we shall be better able to talk over the matter.”

When they were underneath the trees, the Abbe resumed: