"Yes, surely, commendable, but only in the eyes of those who murdered
our poor King, Father; but we will speak no more of these things. You
are tired with your day's work, and are not like yourself to-night. I
hear Hirzel's voice, so I will go and meet him; we are to have a walk
this evening, and you can talk quietly with Jacques, but not a word
about me; you know what my thoughts are now, Father."

Having thus spoken, Marguerite left the house, and after going through
the garden gate, she entered a pretty lane which was abundantly blessed
by Nature with a quantity of ferns and wild flowers. It was just
beginning to grow dusk, and she saw not far off Jacques Gaultier and her
brother. The latter was singing in his native _patois_ a gay song, much
to the horror of Jacques, who thought it was dreadful to do such a
thing. Dropping his usual air of hypocritical stiffness (adopted by so
many to fall in with the custom of the times), he hastened forward to
meet Marguerite, and with a show of politeness, wonderful for the rough
Jacques, raised his hat and said, "Good evening, Marguerite; it is my
fault that thy brother is late; I kept him while I was getting ready
some bobbins which I have made in the hope that thou wilt take them from
me."

"I thank thee, Jacques Gaultier, but I do not want thy bobbins; keep
them for some other girl: I am teaching many this same work, and no
doubt you will find some one glad to get them. I am going to-night where
I shall get a set made by some one whom I like better than Jacques
Gaultier. My father is waiting, so go to him; come Hirzel, don't delay
me longer."

Jacques moved off muttering to himself, and with a most murderous look