frequent disappointed looks which stole across their faces.

At last the guests had nearly all arrived, and farmer Charest, his
good-natured face all aglow, intimated by much hammering on the table
that it was time they sat down to supper. There being no dissenting
voice to this popular proposition, a general move was made to the
benches ranged on both sides of the table. By a strange coincidence,
Zotique and Vital, instead of going to the table with the others,
gravitated toward the door.

"Just thought I would have a look out; it is such a fine night," said
Zotique, as he took a long breath of fresh air.

Vital looked at his robust brother in a queer, constrained manner, and
said that it was indeed a beautiful evening. Now, instead of looking
up at the queen of the night, as one would naturally have expected
after such flattering comments, they both, as though by common
consent, treated her with the most marked disrespect, not once looking
toward her, but bestowing all their attention on a certain little
whitewashed cottage down the road, from a window of which streamed a
light.

"I think we had better go in," said Zotique, presently, in a slightly
disappointed tone.

"Yes, yes, Zotique, what you say is right; there never was a finer
night," answered Vital, dreamily, his eyes still fixed thoughtfully on
the cottage. He was in one of his absent moods, and had not heard
what his brother had said.