Autumn Glory; Or, The Toilers of the Field

aziness, which, censured by her father at La Fromentière, could be yielded to at will in the town. To have no more baking to do, no more cows to milk, to be in some sort

drift, and exposed herself to life in a suburb, to the familiarities of frequenters of the café, without dreaming of its

e shelter of the barn where she had been hiding, and, despite the entreaties of Marie-Rose and even of Mathurin, going from room to room she had hurriedly colle

nnot tell if I shall be happy; but it

up her bundle, went out from La Fromentière, and reached the hollow road, where, crouching beneath the hedge, she wa

ng La Rousse at her greates

e!" he h

thurin had

d without a word of explanation had stridden away in the direction of Sallertaine. Had h

beside the simmering pot that murmured as if in low plaint, the two remaining inmates of the farm sat watching, but how differently! Rousille, nervous, burning with fever, could not

n!" sh

e listened

d of Malabrit taki

en ag

, borne on the silent air,

-Rouge's bark,"

te, a step, a cry, the rolling of a vehi

, who, repentant-was it too much to hope-had come back. Oh, what joy it would be, what rapture to see one of them! It seemed as if the other would have the right to go if one came

his chin. For hours he had sat so, never moving, speaking as little as possible; from time to time tears rolled down his cheeks; at ot

'clock

l, "I am afraid that some mis

er his trouble with t

yet, all the same

t accustomed to wait as I

s Sallertaine

f you

, and was standing up. His crutches were lying on the ground, and by an effort of will he stood nearly upright, resting one hand on the table,

hat should you do if fa

ng her eyes with her hand. "And do not exert yours

hould take the management here. I feel st

own, I beg of yo

with a groan. She turned back, saw that he was in a sitting posture on the chair, pressing both hands to his side, doubtless to still

le of the path that, leading past the dwarf orchard, skirted the meadows; she was frightened, almost running, nor did she slacken speed until she reached the edge of the Marais, where the road

im moving lights and shadows around, there was but one sound, that of the distant roll of the sea against the shores of La Vendée. She was about to turn, fol

the coming of one her heart had recognised. He came by the road she had come, from the thickets of La Fromentière. Erect, trembling, she stood on the grass-grown r

lle. I have not

stick in hand, looking well pl

y of joy. A smile rose to her face like an air bubble on trou

now of our trouble at home. Fran?ois has gone, Eléonore has gone; I am all alone there, and I have come o

the moonlight; and as she drew her cloak ab

ne. But this evening I heard of Fran?ois' going; it is the talk of the town in one way and another. I ran at once to La Fromentière, keeping

he-at Sa

He passed just where we are now standing, and he was gest

ed, she

hat lo

ter of

way did

ction of the mainland, and to

I believe. He jumped the fence

ood-bye, Jean

r hand, grew very

to-morrow when she asks me, 'Is it really true that she loves you? What word of plighted troth did she give you when you parted? My poor Jean, when true-hearted girls see their sweethearts going away

ws faintly on the grey grass. Rousille, her sweeth

e a true farmer, that he is to be seen at fairs and gatherings, above all, that he is courting a girl at Sallertaine, then come back and speak to father. My father

sille? What

I must be go

ourtesy that sat well upon him; no

ared beyond the fence Jean Nesmy remained motionless, on the same spot, where the words she had spoken were still ringing in his ears. Then slowly, as one learning by heart who looks not about him, he took his way towa

the topmost leaves of the willows were already turnin

eful light of the moon, were sloping lawns, broken now by groups of forest-trees forming islands of black shade, now disappearing in the blue mist of distance. Sometimes in light, sometimes in shadow, Rousille followed the path, her eyes on the watch, her heart beating wildly. She was seeking marks of footsteps on the gravel; straining to see objects amid the dense thickets. Was that her father over there, that dark form through

towers and pointed roofs, on which the weather-cocks that once told the direction of the wind were now motionless with rust. Night o

melancholy pile, stained by winter rains, already as grey as any ruin; and as she

thought without a

d as she came closer, she began to distinguish the words he was saying, like a refrain: "Monsieur le Marquis! Monsieur le Marquis!" And as she hastened over the soft turf which deadened her footsteps, Rousille had the horrible dread that her father was mad. No, it was not that, but grief, fatigue, and hunger, of which he was unconscious, had excited his brain. Finding neither help nor support any

e been looking for you for an

king at her with absent eyes

My house is going to ruin, and he is not here to defend m

he does not know of it;

o authority beyond their farms. I have been to the Mayor, to Guerineau, to de la Pin?onnière, le Glorieux, de la Terre-Aymo

rha

He will help me; he will give me back Fran?ois

ing back in softened accents to the avenues, the lawns, until they were lost in the forest. The sti

nd, possibly, a calming influence, a consoling power emanated from her, for when she said: "There is Mathurin at home, father, waiting for you," of his

d, "there is Math

ence into the fields belonging to the farm. As they neared La Fromentière, Rousille felt that the farmer was gradually

nhappy too. Do not talk muc

over his eyes, and preceding Rousille, pushed open the door of the house-place, wher

worry overmuch ... they have gone, bu