"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. And for my part, I don't dare do so
much as press your hand! In the woods, when my son was asleep, and you
were asleep too, I came near kissing you softly. But I should have died
of shame rather than ask you for a kiss, and I suffered as much that
night as a man roasting over a slow fire. Since then, I've dreamed of
you every night. Ah! how I have kissed you, Marie! But you slept without
dreaming all the time. And now do you know what I think? that if you
should turn and look at me with such eyes as I have for you, and if you
should put your face to mine, I believe I should fall dead with joy. And
as for you, you are thinking that if such a thing should happen to you,
you would die of anger and shame!"