Wending his way along the copse, Claudet suddenly perceived, through an opening in the trees, several large white sheets spread under the beeches, and covered with brown heaps of the fallen fruit.  One or two familiar voices hailed him as he passed, but he was not disposed to gossip, for the moment, and turned abruptly into the bushwood, so as to avoid any encounter.  The unexpected event which had just taken place, and which was to change his present mode of life, as well as his plans for the future, was of too recent occurrence for him to view it with any degree of calmness.

He was like a man who has received a violent blow on the head, and is for the moment stunned by it.  He suffered vaguely, without seeking to know from what cause; he had not been able as yet to realize the extent of his misfortune; and every now and then a vague hope came over him that all would come right.

So on he went, straight ahead, his eyes on the ground, and his hands in his pockets, until he emerged upon one of the old forest roads where the grass had begun to burst through the stony interstices; and there, in the distance, under the light tracery of weaving branches, a delicate female silhouette was outlined on the dark background.  A young woman, dressed in a petticoat of gray woolen material, and a jacket of the same, close-fitting at the waist, her arms bare to the elbows and supporting on her head a bag of nuts enveloped in a white sheet, advanced toward him with a quick and rhythmical step.  The manner in which she carried her burden showed the elegance of her form, the perfect grace of her chest and throat.  She was not very tall, but finely proportioned.  As she approached, the slanting rays of the setting sun shone on her heavy brown hair, twisted into a thick coil at the back of her head, and revealed the amber paleness of her clear skin, the long oval of her eyes, the firm outline of her chin and somewhat full lips; and Claudet, roused from his lethargic reverie by the sound of her rapid footsteps, raised his eyes, and recognized the daughter of Pere Vincart, the proprietor of La Thuiliere.

At the same moment, the young girl, doubtless fatigued with the weight of her bundle, had laid it down by the roadside while she recovered her breath.  In a few seconds Claudet was by her side.

“Good-evening, Reine,” said he, in a voice singularly softened in tone, “shall I give you a lift with that?”

“Good-evening, Claudet,” replied she; “truly, now, that is not an offer to be refused.  The weight is greater than I thought.”

“Have you come far thus laden?”

“No; our people are nutting in the Bois des Ronces; I came on before, because I don’t like to leave father alone for long at a time and, as I was coming, I wished to bring my share with me.”

“No one can reproach you with shirking work, Reine, nor of being afraid to take hold of things.  To see you all day trotting about the farm, no one would think you had been to school in the city, like a young lady.”