...  Tous les palais des rois N’ont rien de comparable Aux beautes que je vois Dans cette etable.

    “Once more?  Very well.”

This time the mother and Tit’Be joined in.  Maria could not resist staying her prayers for a few moments that she might look and hearken; but the words of the hymn renewed her ardour, and she soon took up the task again with a livelier faith ...  “Hail Mary, full of grace ...”

    Trois gros navires sont arrives,
    Charges d’avoine, charges de ble. 
    Nous irons sur l’eau nous y prom-promener,
    Nous irons jouer dans l’ile...

“And now?  Another song:  which?” With out waiting for a reply he struck in ...  “No? not that one ...  Claire Fontaine?  Ah!  That’s a beautiful one, that is!  We shall all sing it together.”

He glanced at Maria, but seeing the beads ever slipping through her fingers he would not intrude.

    A la claire fontaine
    M’en allant promener,
    J’ai trouve l’eau si belle
    Que je m’y suis baigne ... 
    Il y a longtemps que je t’aime,
    Jamais je ne t’oublierai...

Words and tune alike haunting; the unaffected sadness of the refrain lingering in the ear, a song that well may find its way to any heart.

..  Sur la plus haute branche, Le rossignol chantait.  Chante, rossignol, chante, Toi qui a le coeur gai ...  Il y a longtemps que je t’aime Jamais je ne t’oublierai ...

The rosary lay still in the long fingers.  Maria did not sing with the others; but she was listening, and this lament of a love that was unhappy fell very sweetly and movingly on her spirit a little weary with prayer.

...  Tu as le coeur a rire, Moi je l’ai a pleurer, J’ai perdu ma maitresse Sans pouvoir la r’trouver, Pour un bouquet de roses Que je lui refusai Il y a longtemps que je t’aime, Jamais je ne t’oublierai.

Maria looked through the window at the white fields circled by mysterious forest; the passion of religious feeling, the tide of young love rising within her, the sound of the familiar voices, fused in her heart to a single emotion.  Truly the world was filled with love that evening, with love human and divine, simple in nature and mighty in strength, one and the other most natural and right; so intermingled that the beseeching of heavenly favour upon dear ones was scarcely more than the expression of an earthly affection, while the artless love songs were chanted with solemnity of voice and exaltation of spirit fit for addresses to another world.

..  Je voudrais que la rose Fut encore au rosier, Et que le rosier meme A la mer fut jete.  Il y a longtemps, que je t’aime, Jamais je ne t’oublierai . .

“Hail Mary, full of grace ...”

The song ended, Maria forthwith resumed her prayers with zeal refreshed, and once again the tale of the Aves mounted.

Little Alma Rose, asleep on her father’s knee, was undressed and put to bed; Telesphore followed; Tit’Be arose in turn, stretched himself, and fined the stove with green birch logs; the father made a last trip to the stable and came back running, saying that the cold was increasing.  Soon all had retired, save Maria.