And Claudet’s countenance became irradiated with a glow of innocent and tender admiration.  It was evident that his eyes looked with delight into the dark limpid orbs of Reine, on her pure and rosy lips, and on her partly uncovered neck, the whiteness of which two little brown moles only served to enhance.

“How can it be helped?” replied she, smiling, “it must be done; when there is no man in the house to give orders, the women must take a hand themselves.  My father was not very strong when my mother died, and since he had that attack he has become quite helpless, and I have had to take his place.”

While she spoke, Claudet took hold of the bundle, and, lifting it as if it had been a feather, threw it over his shoulder.  They walked on, side by side, in the direction of La Thuliere; the sun had set, and a penetrating moisture, arising from the damp soil of the adjacent pasture lands, encircled them in a bluish fog.

“So he is worse, your father, is he?” said Claudet, after a moment’s silence.

“He can not move from his armchair, his mental faculties are weakening, and I am obliged to amuse him like a child.  But how is it with yourself, Claudet?” she asked, turning her frank, cordial gaze upon him.  “You have had your share of trouble since we last met, and great events have happened.  Poor Monsieur de Buxieres was taken away very suddenly!”

The close relationship that united Claudet with the deceased was a secret to no one; Reine, as well as all the country people, knew and admitted the fact, however irregular, as one sanctioned by time and continuity.  Therefore, in speaking to the young man, her voice had that tone of affectionate interest usual in conversing with a bereaved friend on a death that concerns him.

The countenance of the ‘grand chasserot’, which had cleared for a time under her influence, became again clouded.

“Yes;” sighed he, “he was taken too soon!”

“And now, Claudet, you are sole master at the chateau?”

“Neither—­master—­nor even valet!” he returned, with such bitterness that the young girl stood still with surprise.

“What do you mean?” she exclaimed, “was it not agreed with Monsieur de Buxieres that you should inherit all his property?”

“Such was his intention, but he did not have time to put it in execution; he died without leaving any will, and, as I am nothing in the eye of the law, the patrimony will go to a distant relative, a de Buxieres whom Monsieur Odouart did not even know.”

Reine’s dark eyes filled with tears.

“What a misfortune!” she exclaimed, “and who could have expected such a thing?  Oh! my poor Claudet!”

She was so moved, and spoke with such sincere compassion, that Claudet was perhaps misled, and thought he read in her glistening eyes a tenderer sentiment than pity; he trembled, took her hand, and held it long in his.

“Thank you, Reine!  Yes,” he added, after a pause, “it is a rude shock to wake up one morning without hearth or home, when one has been in the habit of living on one’s income.”