"Haven't you seen a young girl of fifteen or sixteen, with a little boy,
pass this way?" said the farmer, affecting an indifferent manner,
although he was visibly moved.
"What do you want of her?" demanded Germain, not seeking to disguise his
indignation.
"I might tell you that that was none of your business, my friend, but as
I have no reason to hide it, I will tell you that she's a shepherdess I
hired for the year without knowing her.--When she came to the farm, she
seemed to me too young and not strong enough for the work. I thanked
her, but I insisted on paying her what her little journey had cost; and
she went off in a rage while my back was turned.--She was in such a
hurry that she even forgot part of her things and her purse, which
hasn't very much in it, to be sure; a few sous, I suppose!--but as I had
business in this direction, I thought I might meet her and give her what
she forgot and what I owe her."
Germain was too honest a soul not to hesitate when he heard that story,
which was possible at least, if not very probable. He fixed a piercing
gaze on the farmer, who bore his scrutiny with much impudence or else
with perfect innocence.
"I want to have a clear conscience," said Germain to himself, and,
restraining his indignation, he continued aloud:
"She's a girl from our neighborhood; I know her: she must be somewhere
about here.
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