Come, look at me, Marie, am I so very frightful?"
"No, Germain," she replied, with a smile, "you're better looking than I
am."
"Don't laugh at me; look at me indulgently; I haven't lost a hair or a
tooth yet. My eyes tell you that I love you. Look into my eyes, it's
written there, and every girl knows how to read that writing."
Marie looked into Germain's eyes with an air of playful assurance; then
she suddenly turned her head away and began to tremble.
"Ah! _mon Dieu!_ I frighten you," said Germain; "you look at me as if I
were the farmer of Ormeaux. Don't be afraid of me, I beg of you, that
hurts me too much. I won't say bad words to you, I won't kiss you
against your will, and when you want me to go away, you have only to
show me the door. Tell me, must I go out so that you can stop
trembling?"
Marie held out her hand to the ploughman, but without turning her head,
which was bent toward the fire-place, and without speaking.
"I understand," said Germain; "you pity me, for you are kind-hearted;
you are sorry to make me unhappy; but still you can't love me, can you?"
"Why do you say such things to me, Germain?" little Marie replied at
last, "do you want to make me cry?"
"Poor little girl, you have a kind heart, I know; but you don't love me,
and you hide your face from me because you're afraid to let me see your
displeasure and your repugnance.
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