Little Marie seemed to pay no further heed to the child's strange words
than to look upon them as a proof of friendship; she wrapped him up
carefully, stirred the fire, and, as the mist lying upon the neighboring
pool gave no sign of lifting, she advised Germain to lie down near the
fire and have a nap.

"I see that you're almost asleep now," she said, "for you don't say a
word, and you are staring at the fire just as your little one did just
now. Come, go to sleep, and I will watch over you and the child."

"You're the one to go to sleep," replied the ploughman, "and I will
watch both of you, for I never was less inclined to sleep; I have fifty
ideas in my head."

"Fifty, that's a good many," said the maiden, with some suggestion of
mockery in her tone; "there are so many people who would like to have
one!"

"Well, if I am not capable of having fifty, at all events I have one
that hasn't left me for an hour."

"And I'll tell you what it is, as well as the ones you had before it."

"Very good! tell me, if you can guess, Marie; tell me yourself, I shall
like that."

"An hour ago," she retorted, "you had the idea of eating, and now you
have the idea of sleeping."