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Updated: May 28, 2025
As he went out again Raphael noticed a man half-way up the crags, leaning on a hoe, and watching the house with interest. "That's my man, sir," said the Auvergnate, unconsciously smiling in peasant fashion; "he is at work up there." "And that old man is your father?" "Asking your pardon, sir, he is my man's grandfather.
Jonathan turned to his master in alarm, with "My Lord " "Go away, go away," cried the invalid. In the hours of the next morning, Raphael climbed the crags, and sat down in a mossy cleft in the rocks, whence he could see the narrow path along which the water for the dwelling was carried. At the base of the hill he saw Jonathan in conversation with the Auvergnate.
"We thought we knew how much we loved them, didn't we, Madame? But we'd never have realised how really deep it was if it hadn't been for this war, would we?" The woman continued to smile sadly. "More than likely you've got somebody in it too," persisted the stout Auvergnate, whose voice suddenly became very gentle and trembled a trifle. "I had three sons.
Jonathan came to inquire after him daily, and the Auvergnate, thinking no doubt that Valentin was still asleep, had not lowered the tones of a voice developed in mountain air. "No better and no worse," she said. "He coughed all last night again fit to kill himself. Poor gentleman, he coughs and spits till it is piteous.
She was an Auvergnate, a high-colored, comfortable-looking, straightforward sort of person, with white teeth; her cap and dress, the face, full figure, and general appearance, were of the Auvergne peasant stamp. So was her dialect; she was a thorough embodiment of her district; its hardworking ways, its thrift, ignorance, and heartiness all met in her. She greeted Raphael, and they began to talk.
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